But there's something about him--" Clara looked at her lover closely.

There was something in him she hated, a sort of detached criticism of herself, a coldness which made her woman's soul harden against him.
"And what are you going to do ?" she asked.
"How ?" "About Baxter." "There's nothing to do, is there ?" he replied.
"You can fight him if you have to, I suppose ?" she said.
"No; I haven't the least sense of the 'fist'.

It's funny.

With most men there's the instinct to clench the fist and hit.

It's not so with me.