She imagined descending the stairs, hearing Mike’s uproarious laughter as she peeked around a vacant corner with a lump in her throat. ‘He could have little comfort there, indeed. She crept into the living room and turned off the set, adjusting Cathy’s blanket which had fallen to the carpeted floor. For a time she brooded on the ideals and suggestions of the Socialists, on the vague intimations of an Endowment of Motherhood, of a complete relaxation of that intense individual dependence for women which is woven into the existing social order. “We can be alone?” She inquired. He smiled tenderly. The little grating in the door, the sense of constant inspection, worried her.
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