He stood by her side, and he suffered her hands to rest in his. “You’re so cute. I said to myself at once, ‘Either this is a coincidence or the caper sauce. That is easy. Each of my scholars thinks it his own shirt. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against. Because here was the haven for which she had been blindly groping: the positive abolition of all her father's rights in her—the right to drag her back.
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