‘Do you tell me that my disreputable son had the infernal insolence to pass you off as that whoring Frenchwoman’s daughter?’ His answer was in their faces. The arrangement had been made by the town matchmaker, a frightening old oak of a man. There had been fusses and scenes dimly apprehended through half-open doors. Wood laughed louder than ever. \"Word gets round. For when this Joan said it, I had a memory. Well-balanced, sane, wasn’t I? You never heard anyone call me a madman? I’m pretty near being one now, and it’s her fault.
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