"Thank Heaven!" she gasped. The crowning aspect of the incident, for her mind, was the discovery that he and her indiscretion with him no longer mattered very much. Gray and tranquil world! Amazing, passionless world! A world in which days without meaning, days in which “we don’t want things to happen” followed days without meaning—until the last thing happened, the ultimate, unavoidable, coarse, “disagreeable. “It is the same man, Annabel,” she said. “Don’t you have a wife? Where are your children?” She asked. I sha'n't cry any more. I would sooner see you in a ’bus again.
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