She was not afraid of violence, but she was afraid of something mean, some secondary kind of force. It was not an affair of the conscience; it was vaguely based upon insolence and defiance. Meat pies with sweet crust were stuffed with macaroni, steaks of pork and beef were pounded thin and grilled rare, capons had been marinated in plum wine and cinnamon, and veal sausages stewed in cream were served over fine noodles: all the dishes that he loved were present. She heard it open, but as she felt unable to look round in a careless manner she pretended not to hear it.
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