It was she who felt guilty as he showed her their bedroom, smelling her perfume, ingesting their psychic leftovers. Oh! and love—love! We’ve had so splendid a time, and fought our fight and won. He agreed it was disgraceful. She will not confide in me. She had not chosen her life, but she was foggy on whether or not it was right to deny others the right to join her in her suffering. The world had grown dark and wide, and she was very small. The oblique ruddy lighting distorted them oddly, made queer bars and patches of shadow upon their clothes. He could not tell whether she was English or American. Senior year started with a whimper. Though Gerald must suppose it was inevitable she should eventually come here.
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