It just made me mad to the boiling point. We were only—les autres. Her fingers were bursting through her gloves, as if to get at once into touch with Ann Veronica. ‘The general himself?’ ‘How shall I get my inheritance if the general will believe that pig?’ ‘Do wish you wouldn’t keep on calling him a pig,’ Martha begged. He hated himself a little for it. They were alike in one phase—loveless and lonely. This was David Courtlaw, whose ways, too, had never been very different from the ways of other men as regards her sex. He couldn't be in better hands than those in which he has placed himself.
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