He went to the door. In vain Wood protested his innocence. I begin to understand Jane Austen and chintz covers and decency and refinement and all the rest of it. “I can’t. “That’s enough, Michelle!” Diane snapped in the ugly raised voice of the enforcer. Will you find your destiny, I wonder, or will you go through life like so many others—a wanderer, knocking ever at empty doors, homeless to the last? Oh, if one could but find the way to your heart. She could think of nothing more to say. He had assumed that her leaving home was the point at issue, that everything turned on that, and that the sole alternative was obedience, and she had fallen in with that assumption until rebellion seemed a sacred principle. He turned the wheel carefully as he touched her neck with the other, threading her soft curls in between his slim fingers. She knew, too, she must not hesitate.
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