Abruptly, Gerald turned. He has no imagination, no real generosity. It dealt from floor to ceiling and end to end with the Theory of the Forms of Life; the very duster by the blackboard was there to do its share in that work, the very washers in the taps; the room was more simply concentrated in aim even than a church. More than ever Sir John was glad that he had sat down. He took into his soul some of the father's misery, some of the daughter's, to mingle with his own. ’ The core of hurt rose up, tearing at her insides. “I have come for an explanation,” she said.
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