“Which is Mr. Anna leaned back with half closed eyes. She made a step forward. Glad to get back, I’m sure,” he said briskly. He embraced her small body in his arms, kissing her forehead over and over. But in between these wider phases of comparative confidence were gaps of disconcerting doubt, when the universe was presented as making sinister and threatening faces at her, defying her to defy, preparing a humiliating and shameful overthrow. He had assumed that her leaving home was the point at issue, that everything turned on that, and that the sole alternative was obedience, and she had fallen in with that assumption until rebellion seemed a sacred principle.
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