” She thought of her father, and with an effort dismissed him from her mind. She hated being angry, the uselessness of it all, the frustration. Her father was holding her waist, smiling. There was no one else in the doorway. You can trust me, Anna. The soil was identical, the climate; still, they would not bear the Olympian fruit, with its purple-lined jacket and its snow-white pulp. I tell you once more, I'll say and do nothing to get you into trouble. He was always drawing contrasts between a woman’s lot and a man’s, and treating her as a wonderful new departure in this comparison.
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