She laughed a little bitterly. There was only one idea in his head now—to batter and bruise and crush this weakling, then cast him at the feet of his love-lorn wife. 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. Whenever I feel particularly gregarious, I take the launch and run over to Copeley's and play poker for a couple of days. A creeping numbness invaded her. ‘Me, I have a name.
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