"Insult you! not I;" returned Figg. She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her. Voilà tout, as Melusine herself would say. She remained stonily in the middle of the hallway until the spinsters' door shut them from view … for ever. He entered the driver’s side, not inserting the keys in the ignition. To him she had always appeared as a mere pleasure-loving parasite—something quite insignificant. I am sure that he can be got rid of. The primitive superstition of his Puritan forbears was his; and before this the buckler of his education disintegrated.
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