She was too delicate, too fragile to survive out there. Although she did not understand why he persisted in this pursuit of her affairs. "Poor Mrs. The little grating in the door, the sense of constant inspection, worried her. Wood, who appeared to be collecting her energies for a terrible explosion, "in the hope that they may prove acceptable. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. She lingered over donning her winter coat, buttoning each toggle and placket, double knotting her long scarf.
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