“It’s blasphemy”—he stood up, looking down on her with the light of fanaticism in his eyes—“blasphemy! Pray to God you may be forgiven for it. Do you ever pray—truly?”
“What’s the use? I’ve prayed for what I want and can’t go on believing when I don’t get it. Of course you’ll tell me I pray for what wouldn’t be good for me! Praying doesn’t alter things, so what’s the use of it?”
“It’s because you don’t believe.”
“Yes, that’s religion all over!—Argue in a way that would be simply idiotic if you applied it to real life.”
“Marian! Marian!” he said, leaning across the table toward her, “God help you!”
“Soon, I hope,” she answered, turning away with a gesture of disgust.
He sprang up, but bit his lip, stopping the rush of words that came to his tongue. She looked up at him, laughing bitterly.
“Will you ever realize that our marriage was a mistake? We weren’t made for one another, that’s all about it. And we’re so poor we can’t afford to separate.”
“Separate!”
“What’s the use of stopping together? I tell you I can’t go on with this life; you must change it; you must.”