"How could I? I began to. I began to love her. But somehow, she always ripped me up. No, don't let's talk of it. It was a doom, that was. And she was a doomed woman. This last time, I'd have shot her like I shoot a stoat, if I'd but been allowed: a raving, doomed thing in the shape of a woman! If only I could have shot her, and ended the whole misery! It ought to be allowed. When a woman gets absolutely possessed by her own will, her own will set against everything, then it's fearful, and she should be shot at last."
"And shouldn't men be shot at last, if they get possessed by their own will?"
"Ay!—the same! But I must get free of her, or she'll be at me again. I wanted to tell you. I must get a divorce if I possibly can. So we must be careful. We mustn't really be seen together, you and I. I never, never could stand it if she came down on me and you."
Connie pondered this.
"Then we can't be together?" she said.
"Not for six months or so. But I think my divorce will go through in September, then till March."
"But the baby will probably be born at the end of February," she said.
He was silent.
"I could wish the Cliffords and Berthas all dead," he said.
"It's not being very tender to them," she said.