Lord, what a state I was in! Night after night I sat there, I watched her come in, I watched her go. “If I am,” he answered, reddening, “you can scarcely assert that it is without a cause. The mother, Cathy Beck, was as patient and as charitable of an individual that Lucy had ever known, a big kindly Polish-American woman with the heart of an angel. Both of them would be committing novel and unforgettable acts. It is I who am persecuted by the man who calls himself your husband. Last time I left home I felt as hard as nails. The whole affair interested him deeply. We struggle against it at first, but in the end we have to submit.
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