’ Triumph leapt in Gerald’s chest. “I found not one but two photos when I researched the death of the McCloskeys. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. You will torture yourself and torture her all through life; but in the end she will pour the wine of her faith into a sound chalice. That dress she has on—my mother might have worn it. Why? While the front of his mind was busy warning her not to fall into the hopeless miseries of underpaid teaching, and explaining his idea that for women of initiative, quite as much as for men, the world of business had by far the best chances, the back chambers of his brain were busy with the problem of that “Why?” His first idea as a man of the world was to explain her unrest by a lover, some secret or forbidden or impossible lover.
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