Or again she would revive all the stresses before our marriage.
“How you must hate me! I made you wait. Well now—I suppose you have your revenge.”
“Revenge!” I echoed.
Then she would try over the aspects of our new separated lives.
“I ought to earn my own living,” she would insist.
“I want to be quite independent. I’ve always hated London. Perhaps I shall try a poultry farm and bees. You won’t mind at first my being a burden. Afterwards—”
“We’ve settled all that,” I said.
“I suppose you will hate me anyhow...”
There were times when she seemed to regard our separation with absolute complacency, when she would plan all sorts of freedoms and characteristic interests.
“I shall go out a lot with Smithie,” she said.