"I told you from the first I am a married woman, with nothing to be said against my husband except that he was part of a condition that was intolerable to me."
"Where is he?"
"West."
"Stage ambition, eh?"
"Yes or—I don't know. Too many ambitions of all kinds crawling over me like a terrible itch, for God knows what. Fermenting. The grape fermenting! But I'm quiet now. So quiet that sometimes I think I wouldn't change it for even the—the singing wine of fulfillment. I don't think I can make you understand. I seem to have been stretching all these years for—for something my arm isn't quite long enough to touch, and now my child—my little girl—"
"You have a child?"
"A little girl."
"How old?"
"Eleven weeks."
He looked at her across a long silence.