It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park. It was an oldfashioned peasant blouse, white, square necked, and trimmed with lace. She had thought it a mirror, because it was her. ‘Major Gerald Alderley, I arrest you in the name of the King. Or had you not noticed?’ He sneered.
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