“With your permission,” he said to Anna, “I shall arrange a bed for him where he is. There, hanging among Ann Veronica’s more normal clothing, was a skimpy dress of red canvas, trimmed with cheap and tawdry braid, and short—it could hardly reach below the knee. ‘Yes, do,’ approved Lucilla. I have never loved you. ‘No!’ Melusine snapped as he tugged at the thing. Wood, regarding her husband with a glance of vindictive triumph. What a pity! For all her ignorance of material things—the human inventions which served the physical comforts of man—how much she knew about man himself! She had seen him bereft of all those spiritual props which permit man to walk on two feet instead of four—broken, without resilience.
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