She had thought—What had she thought? That this dependence of women was but an illusion which needed only to be denied to vanish. T. It is I who am persecuted by the man who calls himself your husband. Her amusement fled and she stared at him, as a slow thump began beating at her breast. “After all, there are great things left in the world for you. I was in hopes you'd be content with my hat and wig. Yes, I can readily believe it. “So that’s the way it is. Jacques, Jacques!’ His face was white, but his eyes were open, if a trifle glazed. She responded at once, rapping him on the knuckles with her fan.
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