Horrors abounded in every passageway as each turn could bring a vision of a poor woman running from her screaming plague-infested son or a bloated corpse of a rich man whose mouth lolled open, showing gaps where someone had pried out a few golden teeth. Perhaps this was the real turning point: the hour in which the disordered mind began permanently to readjust itself. He sat in much the same attitude, and she stood just as she had stood when he told her she could not go to the Fadden Dance. His instinct was in the direction of considering his daughters his absolute property, bound to obey him, his to give away or his to keep to be a comfort in his declining years just as he thought fit. I'll send for Wu Fang.
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