But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. How dreary it all looks. He gave her silence in return. My wife doesn’t understand, doesn’t understand now. He initiated sex with her, lightly fingering her clitoris as an invitation. “These clothes are French, and I’m sure this floppy bow would make a Frenchman of me anyhow. Aware of his father's inflexibility of purpose, he set his wits to work to defeat the design. He sat before a desk littered all over with papers and official looking documents.
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