Jack, however, had an expedient for mastering this difficulty. Running to Gosse, she seized the portrait from his hand and lashed out, taking him off guard, so that he staggered back and fell against the card table. "Thumping; but that's only excitement. ’ ‘Aye, but she don’t reckon to militiamen. “Why do you hate me again, my love?” He seemed to brighten, feeding upon the intensity of her emotion. His baggy shorts sagged over knobby knees that tapered into decrepit Reebok sneakers. The mock astonishment of his face immediately became genuine. He was ill at ease, though he would not have confessed his disquietude even to himself. "What for?" demanded Wood. He was wrapped in a loose dressing-gown of light material, and stood near the corner where the women's dresses had just been thrown down, quite out of sight of all the party, except Mrs. Her aunt had summoned up an altogether too vivid picture of her father as the masterful man, overbearing, emphatic, sentimental, noisy, aimless. "'Sdeath!" cried Hogarth, aside to the poet.
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