She felt herself getting into a corner. “Maybe we could swing a scholarship to Boston College for you, you know, with your violin and all. Yet in some hidden corner was a vein of sentiment, of which for the first time in his later life he was now unexpectedly aware. A new inexplicable madness that urged him to shrill ironically the story of his coat—to take it off and fling it at the feet of any stranger who chanced to be nigh. The women, Ann Veronica thought, were not quite so interesting as the men. But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. And there arose too, a background of shouts. A young man turned to pay the cabman.
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