“It’s the stir of spring,” he said. Occasionally the mere fact of lying in bed became unendurable, and she rolled out and marched about her room and whispered abuse of herself—usually until she hit against some article of furniture. . For a moment she thought of saying yes, and then filled with shame. But, urged by his wife's cries, who was more anxious for the preservation of her child's life than her own, he snatched up the infant, and made his escape from the back of the premises. They knew they were all Bogey in disguise. She succumbed to cancer of the breast at age forty-three, it was slow and wasting. Her head was downcast as she studied the museum-like exhibits of various dusts on the resilient tile flooring. 70 <9> A MARRIAGE, PART II She dreamt of the inn they had stopped at after her suicide attempt, the flea-ridden hostel her husband had angrily toted her to after the incident at the country house. “I suppose I ought to congratulate you,” he said.
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