” “Again,” he said, “I am going to be impertinent. It was my destiny to have her. Suppose—suppose a girl did want to start in life, start in life for herself—” She looked him frankly in the eyes. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. She said she hoped she had not distressed him by the course she had felt obliged to take, and he told her not to be a fool. Taking her limbs was the only thing I could do short of killing her.
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