“Call me Cathy, John. Wood, regarding her husband with a glance of vindictive triumph. Yet there was nothing for her to do. “We have to get in, I think,” said a nice little old lady in a bonnet to Ann Veronica, speaking with a voice that quavered a little. She touched it, and her gaze lifted. “You mean to tell me” he said, “that you have a lover? While I have been keeping you! Yes—keeping you!” This view of life he hurled at her as if it were an offensive missile. Even there a woman never gets a fair chance. But I have not done so, and will not. I'll talk to her in the morning, but she won't understand what I'm driving at. To have the present lengthen into years! But in a few hours she would be upon her way, far lonelier than she had ever been.
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