“You are afraid,” she said, “that the young man who thinks that he is my husband has upset me. “Now bite as hard as you can, John. “I want to lay all my life at your feet. Thrilling, she began to dance, swirled, glided, and dipped. ” Her father’s irony deepened. Small blame to her. The more she disentangled the lines of her situation the deeper grew her self-disgust. “She wasn’t sane, my wife. Occasionally the mere fact of lying in bed became unendurable, and she rolled out and marched about her room and whispered abuse of herself—usually until she hit against some article of furniture. He picked up the broken fiddle and beckoned. The prostitute’s attack was predictable, typical. I’ve got to have you, and by God I will.
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