Here, indeed, was a type with which he had never until now come into contact—a natural woman. "I knew how it would be," she cried, in the shrill voice peculiar to a shrew, "when you brought that worthless hussy's worthless brat into the house. Others are smart but fall prey to emotional damage, the female lunar instinct of cunning that goes awry. Ask your own conscience. ‘You are jealous!’ ‘Yes,’ he agreed simply. This business of love is the supreme affair in life, it is the woman’s one event and crisis that makes up for all her other restrictions, and I cower—as we all cower—with a blushing and paralyzed mind until it overtakes me!. Tears began to stream from her cheeks. Red apples and snow! How often had these two things entered his thoughts since his wanderings began? Red apples and snow!—and never again to behold them! "I am going out for a little while," she said. “You look great, Lucy. Just sit down on that stool again and let’s talk of this in cold blood.
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