"We've had enough of this, eh? If it doesn't suit you you'll do me the
pleasure of leaving the house. I don't want you to go yelling in my
place. Just you get it into your noodle that I mean to be quite free.
When a man pleases me I go to bed with him. Yes, I do--that's my way!
And you must make up your mind directly. Yes or no! If it's no, out you
may walk!"
She had gone and opened the door, but he did not leave. That was her way
now of binding him more closely to her. For no reason whatever, at the
slightest approach to a quarrel she would tell him he might stop or
go as he liked, and she would accompany her permission with a flood of
odious reflections. She said she could always find better than he; she
had only too many from whom to choose; men in any quantity could be
picked up in the street, and men a good deal smarter, too, whose blood
boiled in their veins. At this he would hang his head and wait for those
gentler moods when she wanted money. She would then become affectionate,
and he would forget it all, one night of tender dalliance making up
for the tortures of a whole week. His reconciliation with his wife had
rendered his home unbearable. Fauchery, having again fallen under Rose's
dominion, the countess was running madly after other loves.
Pages:
677
678
679
680
681
682
683
684
685
686
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695
696
697
698
699
700
701