"The Wastrel seemed to take it all right. She had flung away from her father’s support with the finest assumption of personal independence. I did not want anything made smooth and easy for me. He would discuss something she had been reading, and he would give her some unexpected angle, setting a fictional character before her with astonishing clearness. Why did I not realise it at once? It just shows how one should not judge by appearances. " It was curiously like the intermittent murmur of the surf, those weird Sundays, when her father paused for breath to launch additional damnation for those who disobeyed the Word.
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