His treatment of his wife is most unsatisfactory. There had been fusses and scenes dimly apprehended through half-open doors. They proved all sorts of things perhaps, but they were thick, unequal, pitiful pieces of work. She traveled through back yards and quiet side streets on her way home, careful to avoid the main thoroughfares, fraught as they were with people in cars who would recognize her person or notice her dress. Until that was done a certain experience of life assured him that a girl is a locked coldness against a man’s approach. There was also the daunting task of getting dressed. But all of that was forgotten.
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