She had not felt comfortable in his presence from the first, and with Leonardo’s precepts in mind, was loath to trust him. Death belongs to God, young man. Miss Klegg raised the question of women’s suffrage, and he set himself to provoke a duel between her and Miss Garvice. You say you need a man. Her motherly features creased into anxious wrinkles. “I think she would,” she decided. But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. He perceived, however, that both the novels he read and the world he lived in discountenanced these assumptions. Young, not much older than she was: she was twenty and he was possibly twenty-four. And, as he was about to put himself into a posture of defence, his mother clasped him in her arms.
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