That was when they got some idea of how the cat felt.

And of all cats an army cat would most resent having its fur rubbed in any but the prescribed direction.
Katie, continuing her ruminations about Wayne as the product of things, had come to see that with it all he was detached from those desirable things which had produced him.

One knew that Wayne had traditions, yet he was not tradition fettered; he suggested ancestors without being ancestor conscious.

Was it the gun--as Wayne the Worthy persisted in calling it--and the gun's predecessors--for Wayne always had something--made him so distinctly more than the mere result of things which had formed him?
"It is the gun," Katie decided, taking him in with half shut eyes as a portrait painter might.

"Had the same ancestors myself, and yet I'm both less and more of them than he is.