‘Of course she don’t understand,’ snapped Charvill irascibly. “A volatile temperament—yes, a volatile temperament,” Mr. \"I'm sorry, Larry. Lucy went hunting on a Thursday night. He made a quick movement towards her, but she did not flinch. He stood a little anxious and fussy, bothered by the responsibility of her, entirely careless of what her life was or was likely to be, ignoring her thoughts and feelings, ignorant of every fact of importance in her life, explaining everything he could not understand in her as nonsense and perversity, concerned only with a terror of bothers and undesirable situations. “You ought at once—you ought at once to have told her that. Courtlaw,” she remarked. “You silly wimmin,” he said over and over again throughout the hearing, plucking at his blotting-pad with busy hands.
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