"You've won your wager. "She's glorious!" He knew that he must hoodwink this keeneyed Scot, even as he must hoodwink everybody: publicly, the devoted husband; privately, the celibate. Not conceiving that his sister—feeble as she was, and yielding as she had ever shown herself to his wishes, whether expressed or implied—would depart without consulting him, he was equally surprised and enraged to hear the servants busied in transporting her to the carriage. ‘You are jealous!’ ‘Yes,’ he agreed simply. We live under man-made institutions, and that is what they amount to. Manning as they talked. They’re fairly intricate little things. I’m not discussing Shakespeare. ‘Damn you, what’s the matter with you?’ he snapped in frustration. Do you know this, Sir?" he added, taking a key from his pocket. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. For the first time that day, she was finally able to look into his face. He was normal now, and the coat was only a coat.
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