“Hush! Don’t talk so loud!... Oh, Mr. Landry, how can you!”
“Haven’t you any decency?” he went on, furiously. “You’re common talk, you and your ‘friends.’ I’m ashamed of you!”
“Mr. Landry!” she cried, amazed. “What’s the matter with you?”
“I’m disgusted!” he said. “I’m....”
He looked at her, standing before him, the harassed and solitary creature who had endured so much, who suffered such indignities without being overwhelmed. There she was, in her mountebank costume, her red smock, her bronze slippers, with her pale and anxious face.... He thought of the complexity, the mystery of these dealings she had had with men, and he hated her.
“I’m through with you!” he said.
He pulled down his hat from the hook where he always left it, and opened the door into the hall.
“No!... Mr. Landry!” she whispered, clutching at his coat. “Don’t! Please don’t go like this!”
But he looked at her with a glance so scornful and full of loathing that she dropped her hands hastily.