She held out the foil. “Exactly. It is I who am persecuted by the man who calls himself your husband. Why do I want him so badly? Why do I want him, and think about him, and fail to get away from him? “It isn’t all of me. When I think of those ateliers of ours, the art jargon, the decadents with their flamboyant talk I long for a twoedged sword and a minute of Divinity. “I have answered all your questions,” she said. We all get deceived sometimes. " "What proof have you that I am?"—was the return bolt. She whispered, “Another car is coming,” as lights approached their car. She moaned, having failed in her mission to find her mother and her God. "Nobody shall," cried Mr.
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