within herself； she slipped out one evening to the workshed。 She
heard the tap…tap…tap of the hammer upon the metal。 Her father
lifted his head as the door opened。 His face was ruddy and
bright with instinct； as when he was a youth； his black
moustache was cut close over his wide mouth； his black hair was
fine and close as ever。 But there was about him an abstraction；
a sort of instrumental detachment from human things。 He was a
worker。 He watched his daughter's hard； expressionless face。 A
hot anger came over his breast and belly。
〃What now？〃 he said。
〃Can't I；〃 she answered； looking aside； not looking at him；
〃can't I go out to work？〃
〃Go out to work； what for？〃
His voice was so strong； and ready； and vibrant。 It irritated
her。
〃I want some other life than this。〃
A flash of strong rage arrested all his blood for a
moment。
〃Some other life？〃 he repeated。 〃Why； what other life do you
want？〃
She hesitated。
〃Something else besides housework and hanging about。 And I
want to earn something。〃
Her curious； brutal hardness of speech； and the fierce
invincibility of her youth； which ignored him； made him also
harden with anger。
〃And how do you think you're going to earn anything？〃
he asked。
〃I can bee a teacher……I'm qualified by my
matric。〃
He wished her matric。 in hell。