Slowly and reluctantly she came to realize that Vivie Warren was what is called an “ideal. She became aware of his presence as she had never been aware of any human being in her life before. She was not afraid of violence, but she was afraid of something mean, some secondary kind of force. She would have been amazed if John was even aware of any one of the incidents. She threw out a hand to stop herself from cannoning into them and, losing balance, tripped over her own petticoats and fell to the carpeted floor, her hat falling off as she did so. She was certain he would hear, sleeping in the nearby castle. He refused.
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