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‘But my poor Jacques is wounded and—’ ‘All taken care of,’ interrupted Hilary. It was a brief solitude, however. ’ ‘You little fiend,’ exclaimed Gerald wrathfully. The knight and his followers crossed the threshold, leaving one of the torch-bearers behind them. He was really very proud of her, and extraordinarily angry and resentful at the innocent and audacious selfreliance that seemed to intimate her sense of absolute independence of him, her absolute security without him. “You, anyhow, don’t deserve it,” he said. She could still remember herself at age five, staring knives and daggers at the men who came into the small yarn shop, under pretense of business but really just to leer.
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