foolish persistence in giving herself away.

‘What do you mean by “it is a picture of a horse?”‘ she cried at her sister. ‘What do you mean by a horse? You mean an idea you have in YOUR head, and which you want to see represented. There is another idea altogether, quite another idea. Call it a horse if you like, or say it is not a horse. I have just as much right to say that YOUR horse isn’t a horse, that it is a falsity of your own make-up.’

Ursula wavered, baffled. Then her words came.

‘But why does he have this idea of a horse?’ she said. ‘I know it is his idea. I know it is a picture of himself, really — ’

Loerke snorted with rage.