She stood in front of her husband. He was no longer the dapper nonentity; he stood there coarse, raving, like a clod-hopper:
“You’re coming home with me!” he shouted. “This minute!”
“Eduard!” Louise entreated. “Don’t shout. Come in.”
She pushed him into Marianne’s room.
“You’re coming home!” he shouted again. “Are you coming? Are you coming?”
“No, I’m not,” said Emilie.
“You’re not?”
“No! I won’t go back to you.”
“You’ve got to!”
“I want a divorce.”