The reading finished. She was startled. She looked up, and was more startled still to see Clifford watching her with pale, uncanny eyes, like hate.
“Thank you so much! You do read Racine beautifully!” she said softly.
“Almost as beautifully as you listen to him,” he said cruelly.
“What are you making?” he asked.
“I’m making a child’s dress, for Mrs. Flint’s baby.”
He turned away. A child! A child! That was all her obsession.
“After all,” he said, in a declamatory voice, “one gets all one wants out of Racine. Emotions that are ordered and given shape are more important than disorderly emotions.”
She watched him with wide, vague, veiled eyes.
“Yes, I’m sure they are,” she