So strongly was he impressed with this idea, that grasping the iron bar with both hands, he dashed it furiously against the door, making the passage echo with the blows. We can’t afford to turn our women, our Madonnas, our Saint Catherines, our Mona Lisas, our goddesses and angels and fairy princesses, into a sort of man. ‘We’ll cross that bridge if and when we come to it. And it had not shocked her! It was this appalling absence of indignation that had put terror into her heart. “Too late, my dear girl,” she exclaimed. "What's that?—Jack's voice!" "It is," replied her son.
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