You were with your mother, the two of you huddled like thieves, laughing at the silly women who tried to shield themselves from rain by cowering under empty baskets and shawls. She confronted him with his own double-standard. “It is like old times,” she said, “to hear these home truths. She hung about his chair, followed him to the door, touched his sleeve timidly, all the while striving to pronounce the words which refused to rise to her tongue. From the threshold she looked her accuser steadily and coldly in the face. I'm one of those unfortunate duffers who have too much imagination—the kind who build their own chimeras and then run away from them.
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