But not finding it, he had again recourse to the bludgeon, and began beating the hand fixed on the upper rail, until, by smashing the fingers, he forced it to relinquish its hold. He added succinctly, ‘Windows are open. That is why Wall Street broke your father; he was honest. She HAD cried, Ann Veronica knew. Because of the Dance. How long he sat there, reeling off this drivel, he never knew. A loud buzz of curiosity circulated among the domestics; some of whom— especially the females—leaned forward to obtain a peep at the culprit. His voice had broken. But it never said: "Tell someone! Tell someone!" Was he something of a moral pervert, then? Was it what he had lost—the familiar world—rather than what he had done? He stared dully at the footrail.
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