” He was suddenly resentful. Wood, ironically; "but I used to think it required something more than mere words to prove that a person's character was abused. She could not judge its direction, and began to move swiftly along the bookshelves, her hand running behind her across the spines of the calfbound volumes. ” “That’s why, in a way, I’m prudish. Never again to be alone! To fit herself into this man's life as a hand into a glove; to use all her skill to force him into the position of depending upon her utterly; to be the spark to the divine fire! He should have his book, even if it had to be written with her heart's blood.
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