“You must leave me your address if you please,” he said, as she rose to go. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. You will leave me utterly distraught. “It’s nothing to what I WILL do. He was really very proud of her, and extraordinarily angry and resentful at the innocent and audacious selfreliance that seemed to intimate her sense of absolute independence of him, her absolute security without him. “There are a few fees. The chair is in the veranda. Nobody toys with me.
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