“Why did you ever tell me that falsehood?”
“I—I don’t know, Samson. What falsehood?”
“You do know, Deb.”
“I don’t know why I told it, Samson.”
“You’ve always been a good girl.” It was a statement, not a query. A statement weighted with perplexity.
And: “Yes ...” she assented, “I’ve always been a good girl.”
He was not so joyfully illuminated as might have been expected. Indeed, he was conscious of being defrauded of an essential occupation. He had married Deb, forgiving her. He had meant to go on forgiving her. He would never stop forgiving her. Now, in place of these anticipations, was a vacuum....