‘You talk together of me as if I am not there. The prostitute’s attack was predictable, typical. And because he knew it was a burden, there was no gaiety upon the doctor's face; neither was there speech on his tongue. At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own. As much as it killed her, she kept her mouth shut. Raven locks fell to her shoulders from under the feathered beaver hat, and curled away down her back.
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