He now understood her interest in Taber, as he called himself: habit, a twice-told tale. I can no longer bear to address you by that formal madame. She repeated phrases of Mrs. Perhaps the old fool was not as fanciful as they had thought. Unless women are never to be free, never to be even respected, there must be a generation of martyrs. You see, I’m separated from my wife. She followed him about persistently, and succeeded, after a brisk, unchivalrous struggle (in which he pinched and asked her to “cheese it”), in kissing him among the raspberries behind the greenhouse. Funk! I’ll see it out. I was to blame to carry the matter so far. Do not remain with me.
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