Sheppard, so that if the blow had been stricken she must have received it. He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. And, as he was about to put himself into a posture of defence, his mother clasped him in her arms. She brought her hands up to her head and ripped out two long chunks of her hair, pulling out shreds of scalp. Her hair touched water, becoming like the seaweed in its velvet slickness. Looking at this girl, a sense of failure swept over him. It was not in evidence here, not a sign of it.
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