Wood, in deploring his wild career, adverted to the melancholy condition to which it had reduced his mother. Your father has forbidden you to go!’” “Well?” “She said, ‘I hate being horrid to you and father, but I feel it my duty to go to that ball!’” “Felt it her duty!” “‘Very well,’ I said, ‘then I wash my hands of the whole business. She tried gentle words with him, beguiling perfumes, even slipped aphrodisiac tisanes into his soup. ‘You don’t favour her, bar the black hair. And meanwhile, we’ll just have these no doubt potentially lethal little claws of yours out of harm’s way. Besides, those things are deadly. ” “It is,” he replied, “the one humiliation of my life. He was content to watch her accepting compliments and gaudy bouquets full of red roses, white carnations, and purple statice.
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