The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. She stared at him and thought the words, “My husband, my husband. She wondered if he was already tired of her, if he would rudely push her away as one would a prostitute. ” He moved himself from the recliner to the couch and patted a cushion. It fell to the ground and smoked ominously.
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