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. He climbed on top of her, pressing her into the couch cushions, the gown billowing around them like a cotton candy parachute. ‘So it was. There’s no sense in morality, I suppose, unless you are fundamentally immoral. I hate myself!” She collapsed to the floor, sobbing. If a cart were coming, or those labourers in the field had heard, escape was impossible. He seemed to possess a penetration and cunning beyond his years—to hide a man's judgment under a boy's mask. E. It had showed up at an auction at Sotheby’s after someone had sold it. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. Jonathan stepped behind a curtain. When Capes glanced up at them for a moment, Manning seemed to be holding his arms all about her, and there was nothing but quiet acquiescence in her bearing.
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