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He's on the ragged edge. ’ I don’t know what you’d call it —a sort of witchery, almost suggestiveness. "I don't see why I should be obliged to pay for doing my duty. All this Woman-who-Diddery —no damn good. It isn’t law, nor custom, nor masculine violence settled that. She pulled, he rose to his feet. Day after day she pounded him with curses, saying that her mother looked down on him from Heaven and sent a curse, to which he laughed. In this hour its colossal selfishness never occurred to him. Annabel lounged in her chair with a sort of insolent abandon in her pose, and wide-open eyes which never flinched or drooped. “Now she’s all hat and ideas,” he said, with an air of humor.
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