A woman isn’t much freer—in reality. She stole the opportunity to peer at his departing figure from the closed curtains of the front room window, his shoulders slumped forward, his posture and his ego slightly deflated. “I just wanted you to see that the time will come when I must leave you, and the time is coming soon. ’ I received strange looks from them. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. ‘His wife? Pah!’ ‘You’re saying she is not his wife?’ ‘I am saying nothing. For a time it really seemed all-sufficient to her that she should love. We can love on a snow cornice, we can love over a pail of whitewash.
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