‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. 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. A dull light shone through the open window blinds and softened the room with parchment yellowness. The one nearest to her, which must lead to the library.
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