Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. ’ Gosse blinked. “And me. One married as he wished and one against his wishes, and now here was Ann Veronica, his little Vee, discontented with her beautiful, safe, and sheltering home, going about with hatless friends to Socialist meetings and art-class dances, and displaying a disposition to carry her scientific ambitions to unwomanly lengths. Only last night she saw me, and there was horror in her eyes. He hung precariously on the ragged edge, but he hung there.
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