‘Please to sit, monsieur. For a few minutes, Darrell seemed to have the advantage in the conflict. His shirt was unfastened, his vest unbuttoned, his hose ungartered; his feet were stuck into a pair of pantoufles, his arms into a greasy flannel dressing-gown, his head into a thrum-cap, the cap into a tie-periwig, and the wig into a gold-edged hat. It looked as if it had taken its world for granted and prospered on that assumption—a world in which children were trained to obey their elders and the wills of women over-ruled as a matter of course. Teenage boys never change, she thought to herself. This hand consigned him to destruction, but another was stretched forth to save him. Behind every one of these myriad fronts she passed there must be a career or careers.
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