"I'm not your cook!"
"I never said you were, but don't prevent the cook we have from doing her work!"
"You forget that Amy, as our paying guest, is entitled to the services of our maid."
"Didn't you hear me calling?"
"No!"
She was telling me lies.... I felt as if my heart would break.
Dinner—my eagerly-looked-for dinner—was a long torture. The afternoon was dismal; Marie wept and inveighed against matrimony, holy matrimony, the only true happiness in the world, crying on the shoulder of her friend, covering her villainous little dog with kisses.
Cruel, false, deceitful—and sentimental!
And so it went on during the whole summer in infinite variety. I spent my Sundays with two imbeciles and a dog. They were trying to make me believe that all our unhappiness was due to my irritable nerves and persuade me to consult a doctor.
I had intended to take my wife for a sail on Sunday morning, but she did not get up before dinner time; after dinner it was too late.