John Ford went towards her.
“Don't touch me, grandfather! I hate every one! Let him do what he likes, I don't care.”
John Ford's face turned quite grey.
“Pasiance,” he said, “did you want to leave me so much?”
She looked straight at us, and said sharply:
“What's the good of telling stories. I can't help its hurting you.”
“What did you think you would find away from here?”
She laughed.
“Find? I don't know—nothing; I wouldn't be stifled anyway. Now I suppose you'll shut me up because I'm a weak girl, not strong like men!”
“Silence!” said John Ford; “I will make him take you.”