"Your answer!" cried Sheppard. “Begin violence, and the woman goes under. I think too much about myself. " She kindled with sympathy. "Jack!" Her son averted his gaze. He hadn't gambled or played the horses or hit the booze back there in little old New York…. Tell me, Sir," she added, with forced calmness, and grasping Wood's arm; "what has Jack done? Tell me in a word, that I may know the worst. Ann Veronica found herself incompetent, undignified, and detestable, holding on desperately to a hardening antagonism to her father, quarrelling with him, wrangling with him, thinking of repartees—almost as if he was a brother. He had dungarees on and a blue work shirt. Something, then, to appease the wrath of God; something to blunt this persistent agony.
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