She had a feeling as though something had dropped from her eyes, as though she had just discovered herself for the first time—discovered herself as a sleepwalker might do, abruptly among dangers, hindrances, and perplexities, on the verge of a cardinal crisis. He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. It can wait a bit longer. She followed him about persistently, and succeeded, after a brisk, unchivalrous struggle (in which he pinched and asked her to “cheese it”), in kissing him among the raspberries behind the greenhouse. Day by day she followed the spiritual and physical contest between this man and woman. But he's witty and amusing, and when reasonably drunk he can play the piano like a Paderewski. "Mrs.
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