“You mean to tell me” he said, “that you have a lover? While I have been keeping you! Yes—keeping you!” This view of life he hurled at her as if it were an offensive missile. “This life is killing me! Oh, it is dull, dull, dull!” Suddenly an idea seemed to strike her. "Had I not been the guilty wretch I am," he cried, bursting into an agony of tears, "she would never have died thus. " "I'll not forget it. She tolerated spitballs in her curly hair and had to buy a new backpack when hers was stolen.
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