"A man who'd let his wife—"
"A man who WOULDN'T let his wife have her way at first is a brute."
"You shouldn't ask it," he cried, sullenly.
"I don't ask it: I insist upon it. If you refuse we can't go on."
"Surely you don't mean that?" He looked up at her with grave, troubled eyes.
"I do. I'm entirely in earnest. You haven't strength to go out among your friends and restrain yourself. No man as far gone as you could do it."
"I've a simpler way than that," he told her, after a moment's thought. "There are institutions where they straighten fellows up. I'll go to one of those."
"No." She rejected this suggestion positively. "They only relieve; they don't cure. The appetite comes back. This is something you must do yourself, once and for all. You must fight this out in secret; this city is no place for men with appetites they can't control. Do this for me, Bob, and—and I'll let you do anything after that. I'll let you—beat me." Getting no response from him, she added gravely, "It is that or—nothing."
"I can't let you go," Bob said, finally.
"Good! We'll keep this apartment and I'll go on working—"