‘Monsieur, my wife intended not to anger you,’ he said in a tone of apology. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. She went on her way now no longer dreaming and appreciative, but disturbed and unwillingly observant behind her mask of serene contentment. She knew that in her new rôle she was as likely as not to be a rank failure. “Of course it is okay!” Cathy’s voice rose in volume and in pitch. “I suppose I ought to congratulate you,” he said. ” But now she doubted again of the quality of the armistice they had just made.
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