Earles remarked genially. “Let go!” said Ann Veronica, through her teeth, strenuously inflicting agony, and he cried out sharply and let go and receded a pace. It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park. The walls rocked, the footrail of the bed wavered, and the girl's head had the nebulosity of a composite photograph. The oblique ruddy lighting distorted them oddly, made queer bars and patches of shadow upon their clothes.
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