“My God! Ann Veronica,” he said, struggling to keep his hold upon her; “my God! Tell me—tell me now—tell me you love me!” His expression was as it were rapaciously furtive. Oh, I’ve loved love, dear! I’ve loved love and you, and the glory of you; and the great time is over, and I have to go carefully and bear children, and—take care of my hair—and when I am done with that I shall be an old woman. She broke a cobblestone over his head and he was out. She was good to me for the two years I stayed with her, she had a nice apartment in Galveston. ‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her. I shouldn't talk like that.
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