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. "Nobody composes any more, nobody paints, nobody writes—I mean, on a par with what we've just heard. I believe it amused him. ‘It must have been so, Melusine, or I wouldn’t have kissed you. " "That is what I wanted to know," said Ruth gravely. The back of the house had been the Alps for climbing, and the shrubs in front of it a Terai. Marvel. “I wonder,” she said, “why one writes him sentences like that? It’ll have to go,” she decided, “I’ve written too many already. .
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