"I shall want a bottle or two of sack, and a flask of usquebaugh. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. Men had tried that before, but never until now had they been quick enough. Fritz sang for her sometimes, for Fritz could sing even before he was able to form words. Spurlock dove headlong at the other's legs, toppling the man. But the sheer immensity of the tract! James Boyle was certainly up against it, hard. I want to hammer myself against all this that pens women in.
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