But whatever she may have said was lost as Gerald pinned her to the wall, the point of the sword at her throat. And he could not return this love. The man was mad to marry me. She felt smaller and more adventurous even than she had expected to feel. She saw herself building up a life upon that —a life restrained, kindly, beautiful, a little pathetic and altogether dignified; a life of great disciplines and suppressions and extensive reserves. He carried her into his bedroom as she unfastened the tiny white buttons of his shirt. He’d borne mention of the woman’s name. They might applaud, or object, or interfere, but the drama was her very own.
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