Diane Vorsack tried to disguise the fact that she was livid, her daughter’s buffoonery having driven off the prestigious dinner guests before the after-dinner drinks could be served. Now it occurred to him that to show her the sealed letter would be a better way. ‘I suppose he isn’t this Leonardo you spoke of?’ ‘Certainly he is not Leonardo. So she took up Stevenson and began to read aloud. She gave tongue to the most urgent of her plaints. "Put down your burthen, monster!" shouted Wood, pointing an immense blunderbuss at him. She went to her own table and sat down. Winifred Wood was now in her twentieth year. Gosse twisted his body to avoid another thrust, and the heavy candlesticks fell, rolling with a noise like thunder, and falling with a thud to the floor. "My enemy," replied her son. "Why can't I?" "You will be compromised. Analysis would come later, when the primitive conscience, satisfied, would cease to dominate his thought and action. She was a trained being—trained by an implacable mother to one end.
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