But the mere recognition of his son’s signature was enough to stoke the fires of his long-held rage. “I have given it up,” she answered. She gave her a wink when John had turned to ask Mark if Lucy could ride home with them. At any rate he made it very clear that night that there was an ineradicable discord in life, a jarring something that must shatter all her dreams of a way of living for women that would enable them to be free and spacious and friendly with men, and that was the passionate predisposition of men to believe that the love of women can be earned and won and controlled and compelled. It was the only time she had ever hit him, punched him right in the stomach like one of his favorite Three Stooges episodes.
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