"Thank Heaven!" she gasped. They must have a key. “It’s a new phase in the life history,” he remarked. She could feel his warm little body trying to snuggle into her, trying to wriggle loose of his swaddling cloth. Both had dropped the rather elaborate politeness of the dining-room, and in their faces an impartial observer would have discovered little lines of obstinate wilfulness in common; a certain hardness—sharp, indeed, in the father and softly rounded in the daughter—but hardness nevertheless, that made every compromise a bargain and every charity a discount. "I had a terrible dream last night. ‘I’m not going to arrest you, young Jack—yet. Sheila decided to do a little laundry one day, clothes that were in Lucy’s hamper, a dirty clothes bin that Lucy had insisted that she have for herself separate from the family one.
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