They were the only real marriages she had seen clearly. “I mean to go to prison directly the session is over,” said Miss Klegg. She tried to be casual. It was as if she had grown right past her father into something older and of infinitely wider outlook, as if he had always been unsuspectedly a flattened figure, and now she had discovered him from the other side. ‘Nevertheless, you will marry me,’ he snarled. Women who Dids, and all that kind of thing. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments.
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