In a second the glass lay shattered upon the carpet. His lawful wife; but nothing more; beyond that she was only an idea, a trust. He would get her to come to tea with him, usually in a pleasant tea-room over a fruit-shop in Tottenham Court Road, and he would discuss his own point of view and hint at a thousand devotions were she but to command him. I don’t know why that should be so acutely humiliating. What he wanted desperately was to be alone. ‘I do not understand you. 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. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: 1.
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