She liked the animated eagerness of his manner. "Get up, mother," cried Jack; "do not kneel to him. ‘Let it fall!’ ‘Brute!’ she spat, struggling, and he knew at once he had guessed aright. The walls were pristine white and unmarked except for two sconces and a rather colorless Monet poster that had been framed in an expensive oak surround. There’s no sense in morality, I suppose, unless you are fundamentally immoral. At any rate, it would be good to hear him saying the sort of things he did—perhaps now she would grasp them better—with this world-shaking secret brandishing itself about inside her head within a yard of him.
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