The affair passed at one leap from a spree to a nightmare of violence and disgust. Wood's favourite sitting-room, and her image was so intimately associated with it, neither the carpenter nor his daughter could muster courage to enter it before. ‘Nothing. He was asleep. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. " "May be," returned the man gravely. “It might be a policeman borrowing the driveway and looking out for speeders. ” She paused. I must finish it at home. ” “It might become one,” he answered.
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