She heard this standard expression of a strong soul wrung with a critical coldness that astonished herself. There lay upon this stand a book bound in limp black leather—the Holy Bible. She hated being angry, the uselessness of it all, the frustration. Most people, every one I know else, seem to have mated with foreigners and to talk uneasily in unfamiliar tongues, to be afraid of the knowledge the other one has, of the other one’s perpetual misjudgment and misunderstandings. Her concluding paragraph was, on the whole, perhaps, hardly starchy enough. Boldly he turned the knob of a certain door and entered.
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