CHAPTER XXVII His idea, cleverly planned, was to shatter her resistance, to confound her suddenly by striking her mind with words which would rob her coherent thought. Only her face was clear, frail and delicate, almost flower-like, with the sad haunting eyes ever watching his. Papa doesn't even care, but he just goes along with whatever my Mom says. It was the sing-song girl idea, magnified many diameters. Not far from the entrance, on the left, was a sort of screen, or partition-wall, reaching from the floor to the ceiling, formed of thick oaken planks riveted together by iron bolts, and studded with broad-headed nails.
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