And if the woman is not a rival, she must be—yes, that must be it. “We do not want the men,” said Miss Miniver; “we do not want them, with their sneers and loud laughter. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. Instead, God had sent her Sebastianus, a man who had sold his soul to the Devil to gain eternal life, or perhaps he was even the Devil himself. At that a new element poured into her excitement, an element of wild disgust and terror. She felt sleepy and unusually irritable. ’ The lodgekeeper’s jaw fell open. On this side was a razor with which a son had murdered his father; the blade notched, the haft crusted with blood: on that, a bar of iron, bent, and partly broken, with which a husband had beaten out his wife's brains. “Yet it is my last evening, and I think —if you are sure that you would like to have me—that I will risk it. ” She felt his heart warming the small room like a radiator.
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