70 <9> A MARRIAGE, PART II She dreamt of the inn they had stopped at after her suicide attempt, the flea-ridden hostel her husband had angrily toted her to after the incident at the country house. We close the chapter. He laughed to hide his uneasiness. She was quite unconcerned. He looked like a French boy soldier she had once glimpsed marching towards his death in one of the battles they would later call the Hundred Years War. In reply to this summons a horn was instantly blown at the corner of the street. She pushed between the pews, hoping to reach the sword first, while desperately holding on to her petticoats to keep them up, as her sword arm wavered. Her voice shook, her eyes were very soft and melting. “I mean to go to that dance!” she blubbered. My, um, my curfew. “MY DEAR FATHER,” she wrote,—“I have been thinking hard about everything since I was sent to this prison. The boy doesn't know it, but I dug into his trunk for something to identify him and stumbled upon some manuscripts. “You come into these sordid surroundings—you mustn’t mind my calling them sordid—and it makes them seem as though they didn’t matter. “Let’s go outside.
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