His invalid wife and her money had been only the thin thread that held his life together; beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing, interesting, memorable affairs. ‘Seems quiet enough,’ observed the junior officer, his gaze raking the shuttered windows of the building’s grey stone frontage. She had paid her bill, and she had enough left in her purse to pay many such. The office is a sight—not one sheet of paper on another; bills and receipts everywhere. They all balk because there aren't any petticoats. “We are the species,” said Miss Miniver, “men are only incidents.
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