‘And why not?’ ‘Because,’ Gerald said matter of factly, ‘convent-bred jeune demoiselles do not commonly know how to handle either pistols or daggers. He grabbed her hair viciously and whispered loudly into her tear-streaked face. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. She confronted him with his own double-standard. " "Don't scold him, father," interposed Thames; "he's been frightened enough already. This is your moment. “And children must we women bear— “Oh, damn!” she cried, as the hundred-and-first couplet or so presented itself in her unwilling brain. Let's have a look at the kinchen that ought to have been throttled," added he, snatching the child from Wood. But then, because my papa had no money, you understand, he sent me to a convent.
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