CHAPTER VII. G. I love my husband. If you were ten years younger, you'd have me wondering. She jumped up at once, caught up a leather clutch containing notebooks, a fat textbook, and a chocolate-and-yellow-covered pamphlet, and leaped neatly from the carriage, only to discover that the train was slowing down and that she had to traverse the full length of the platform past it again as the result of her precipitation. A corner could hold the promise of a shelf of dainty crystals, volcanic ices of rainbow colors, or figurines of saints sculpted from horn and bone reenacting their martyrdoms on delicate miniature wooden stages. He had diverged only a little from the truth when he said that his chief interest in life was women. “It is against my husband’s orders, and I am not sure that my sister will be particularly glad to see me.
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