“Well, I have said what I had to say, stumblingly and badly, and baldly. Let me lend you some money. In spite of God and wasps and her father, she had stolen plums; and once because of discovered misdeeds, and once because she had realized that her mother was dead, she had lain on her face in the unmown grass, beneath the elmtrees that came beyond the vegetables, and poured out her soul in weeping. Drummond smoked his cigarette meditatively. ‘Precisely. There were three exit doors. You know that I am practically destitute, without means or any certain knowledge of where my next meal is coming from. It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park. She can be of use to me yet. ‘She won’t.
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