“Which of us do you think has the greater influence over her?” she demanded.
“I really don’t know. You have rather an advantage over me in that respect.”
“I’m glad you admit that,” interrupted Sylvia, with sarcastic chill.
“You have personality. You’ve probably been very kind to Lily. You’re cleverer than she is. You’re with her all the time. I’ve only quite suddenly come into her life again.”
“I’m glad you think you’ve managed to do that,” she said, glowering.
More and more, Michael thought, with her wide-set eyes was she like a cat crouching by the fire.
“Just because I had to go away for three days and you had an opportunity to be alone with Lily, you now think you’ve come into her life. My god, you’re like some damned fool in a novel!”
“A novel by whom?” Michael asked. Partly he was trying to score off Sylvia, but at the same time he was sincerely curious to know, for he never could resist the amplification of a comparison.
“Oh, any ink-slinger with a brain of pulp,” she answered savagely.
He bowed.