. ‘Monsieur, my wife intended not to anger you,’ he said in a tone of apology. Her father, her own father! She remembered now a verse from the Psalms her father had always been quoting; but now she recited it with perfect understanding. She was flushed, and her eyes were bright and angry; her breath came sobbing, and her hair was all abroad in wandering strands of black. Your life is like a funeral March. She spied him sitting on his armless black couch, his feet splayed as he stared at his television blankly. And you have stolen my dagger.
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