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. The evenings were beginning to draw out, and it would not be dark for an hour. That’s the difficulty. Never was there another girl like this one. He might be unfortunate, but he would scarcely be a fool. I suppose an intelligent person OUGHT to be interested in political affairs. He waved a hand toward the sea. To stumble upon the trail through the agency of a bottle of whisky! Drank queer; so his bottle had rendered him conspicuous. I don't believe his name is Taber. She had tried him as a Crusader, in which guise he seemed plausible but heavy—“There IS something heavy about him; I wonder if it’s his mustache?”—and as a Hussar, which made him preposterous, and as a Black Brunswicker, which was better, and as an Arab sheik.
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