It did not occur to her that save for some accidents of education and character they had souls like her own. Then, even as they stood there, the room was plunged into darkness. Gianfrancesco took her that night gently, for which she was glad. She warmed to him fast, her anger was much harder to carry than the pleasant everyday neutrality of affection. "And yet—but it is only part of the chain of ill-luck that seems wound around me. In the morning and at night he is dressed as he would dress in the big hotels. She opened it and imbibed. My wife doesn’t understand, doesn’t understand now.
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