“Ruin me? Think of me with fondness? Are you dying of cancer or something?” He demanded. She had a feeling as though something had dropped from her eyes, as though she had just discovered herself for the first time—discovered herself as a sleepwalker might do, abruptly among dangers, hindrances, and perplexities, on the verge of a cardinal crisis. There’s no sense in morality, I suppose, unless you are fundamentally immoral. “Not like it’s your fault if you wake up one day and decide you hanker for a nice piece of ass, a ten-minute tumble. “You silly wimmin,” he said over and over again throughout the hearing, plucking at his blotting-pad with busy hands.
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