After writing these sentences she found herself leaving her desk and walking up and down the room to relieve herself. She could not sit still, because suddenly the blood ran fast and hot through her veins. She put her hands against her cheeks and laughed a little, low laugh. I feel violent and I must get over it. This is rage.
Rage is worth nothing.
There would have been a sort of luxury in giving way to the sway of it. But the self- indulgence would have been no aid to future action. Rage was worth nothing. She said it as the first Reuben Vanderpoel might have said of a useless but glittering weapon. Help us serve you better.