‘I thought—I thought I saw my—my husband. Of animal life, there was nothing left but monkeys and wild pig, the latter having been domesticated. “Perhaps,” he queried, “you wish to avoid being seen about with any one—er— connected with the profession, under present circumstances. I tried painting and couldn’t get on. Am I so forgettable?” He strode down the hall as she ran to catch up with him past lockers someone had painted an abysmal shade of gray blue. It was horrible, but what could she do? She meant to live her own life, and he meant, with contempt and insults, to prevent her.
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