Something with iron resolve the father had kept hidden all these years in the lonely citadel of his heart. A corner could hold the promise of a shelf of dainty crystals, volcanic ices of rainbow colors, or figurines of saints sculpted from horn and bone reenacting their martyrdoms on delicate miniature wooden stages. The hardest bout I ever had was with a woman—Sally Wells, who was afterwards lagged for shoplifting. It was high afternoon, there was no great throng of footpassengers, and many an eye from omnibus and pavement rested gratefully on her fresh, trim presence as she passed young and erect, with the light of determination shining through the quiet self-possession of her face. In a tall glass the rind of a Syrian orange was arranged in spiral form.
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