‘Did you see the man?’ Gerald asked. As absurd as that you take this interest in my affairs. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. No matter what happened, whether the road smoothed out or became still rougher, he would always be carrying this secret with him; and each time he recalled it, the rack. He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe. His two wives have been here. The little grating in the door, the sense of constant inspection, worried her.
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