This is altogether insupportable. His attitude was as different from Gianfrancesco’s as night was from day. He contrasted the lot of women in general with the lot of men, presented men as patient, self-immolating martyrs, and women as the pampered favorites of Nature. Sometimes the music would be tender and dreamy, like a native mother's crooning to her young; sometimes it would be so gay that the flesh tingled and the feet were urged to dance; again, it would be like the storms crashing, thunderous. "That was the lad's name," returned the stranger. On the way home he was still thoughtful. He refrained from pointing out that the case would be exactly the same if she was not a lady. “Call me Cathy, John. I've got the watch-spring saw in my sleeve.
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