70 <9> A MARRIAGE, PART II She dreamt of the inn they had stopped at after her suicide attempt, the flea-ridden hostel her husband had angrily toted her to after the incident at the country house. “I hope you realize,” he went on, in a lower and less assured tone, “that I am in earnest—very much in earnest. He halted and put out a hand to stop Hilary. Lucy loved orchestras, the bittersweet tinge of rosin dust that hung in the air, the way that the sun shone through filthy windows illuminating the marimbas with a storybook light. “Ye Gods!” she said at last. That’s as far as we go.
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