” “You mean to say,” Anna said slowly, “that you are going to leave your husband?” “Yes. John laughed even harder, his eyes misting over. She even thought that perhaps she might come to love him, in spite of that faint indefinable flavor of absurdity that pervaded his courtly bearing. Mercifully, John had been sick for two of the three days of Thanksgiving week, giving her reprieve from both his presence and the machinations of Katy Pfister, who was always less active on days when he was not around. And she did not merely affect to be driven—she felt driven. 1 through 1. From a bi-secting street came shouting and music. Men usually do. “So should you.
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