He bowed over her hand, venturing to drop a kiss on it’s leathery surface. Once, when he thought he had done so, he smiled an ingratiating smile. The mother was far more real to her than the father; the ghostly far more substantial than the living form. “You mean to tell me” he said, “that you have a lover? While I have been keeping you! Yes—keeping you!” This view of life he hurled at her as if it were an offensive missile. ” She smiled, sure of herself beyond any pretending, into his troubled eyes. He hadn't followed this angle of thought in ten years: what he might have been, with a little shrewd selfishness. For a moment her heart seemed to stop beating.
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