“If that He and She business goes on I suppose you'll have to divorce the lady.”
“Divorce Charity!” Cheever gasped. “Are you dotty?”
That hit Zada pretty hard, but she bore it. She came back by another door.
“I guess I am—nearly as dotty as she is about Dyckman. First thing you know she'll be trying to get free herself. What if she asks you for a divorce?”
“I'd like to see her!”
“You mean you wouldn't give her her freedom?”
“Not in a thousand years.”
He was astounded at the sepulchral woe of Zada's groan. “O Lord, and I thought—oh—you don't love me at all then! You never really loved me—really! God help me.”
Cheever wondered what Zada would smash first. He hoped it would not be the window of the car. He hoped he could get her safely indoors before the smashing began.
He did. She was a grim and murky storm-cloud full of tornado when they crossed the pavement and the vestibule of the apartment-house and went up in the elevator.