The comparisons upon which she could draw were few and confusingly new, mixed with reality and the loose artistic conceptions of heroes in fiction. That was something in his favour. “No man can realize,” she said, “what that pit can be. “And now, look at us! See what we have become. Let’s go. She felt that there was a hidden meaning under his words. His invalid wife and her money had been only the thin thread that held his life together; beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing, interesting, memorable affairs. There's good stuff in him, if one could find the way to dig it out. Nevertheless, relief washed over her, her body rejoicing in the afterglow of twenty years of tension released. But shortly this movement ceased. This is simply a chapter of coincidences. Bit priggish, isn’t it? And if he only knew it—so absurd. But they would not be denied.
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