“Thank Heaven for that.”
“When I broke that window something else broke.”
“One of my best vases,” said Herbert with sarcasm.
“I think something in my own nature broke too. My spirit has broken out of this narrow, deadening little life of ours, out of the smug snobbishness and stupidity which for so long kept me prisoner, out of the belief that the latest sentimental novel, the latest romantic play, the latest bit of tittle-tattle from my neighbors might satisfy my heart and brain. When I broke that window I let a little fresh air into the stifling atmosphere of this flat, where I have been mewed up without work, without any kind of honest interest, without any kind of food for my brain or soul.”
Herbert stared at his wife, and made an impatient gesture.
“If you want work, why don’t you attend to your domestic duties?”
“I have no domestic duties,” said Clare. “That is the trouble.”
Herbert laughed in an unpleasant way.
“Why, you haven’t even bought any flowers to decorate your home! Isn’t that a domestic duty?”
Clare answered him quickly, excitedly.