Later when we were alone I asked Vera if the house had been pledged.
“The mortgage was executed yesterday,” she said. “It’s roof and all this time.”
“He doesn’t seem at all depressed,” I said.
“No,” she answered. “That is his way with disaster. We’ve seen it before.”
“Don’t you admire him for it, though?”
“I hate him!” she cried passionately. The intensity of her emotion astonished me. Her hands were clenched, her eyes were large and her body quivered. We were sitting together on the sofa. I got up and walked around. When I looked at her again she lay face downward in the pillows, weeping convulsively.