’ A strangled sob escaped her as his thumb dug cruelly into the soft flesh of her wrist. The babies that the woman—your wife—refused to stop creating. Then she sat watching the play, sometimes offering a helpful suggestion, sometimes letting her attention wander to the smoothly shining arms she had folded across her knees just below the edge of the table. The thought of beauty became an obsession. " And her faithful attendant, drowned in tears, withdrew, followed by the two assistants. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic.
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