Explore "Adam's Breed" by Radclyffe Hall on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Teresa Boselli stood at the window staring down at Old Compton Street; at the greasy pavements, the greasy roadway, the carts, the intolerable slow-moving vans, those vans, that to Teresa's agonized ears, seemed to rumble more loudly because of that window. There were men in the street, and women too, mothers -- yet they let those vans go on rumbling; they did not know, and even if they knew they would probably continue on their way uncaring.
Teresa's whole being, soul, heart and brain, seemed to fuse itself together into something hard, resisting -- a shield, a wall, a barricade of steel wherewith to shut away those sounds. In the street below the traffic blocked itself; protesting horses shuffled and stamped, their drivers shouted to each other, laughing; a boy went by whistling a music-hall song; a dog, perched jauntily on a grocer's cart, sprang up to bark at nothing in particular; and Teresa shook her clenched fists in the air, then let them drop stiffly to her sides. Her eyes, small, black and aggressively defiant, burnt with a kind of fury.