The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. Mrs. Diane Vorsack was a disaster waiting for a place to happen, with a heartily established dislike for the Beck clan. “You mean to tell me” he said, “that you have a lover? While I have been keeping you! Yes—keeping you!” This view of life he hurled at her as if it were an offensive missile. Over these hung levels, bevels, squares, and other instruments of measurement. ’ He received a glare from his captive.
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