But are we any more free?” “Well?” “I mean we’ve long strings to tether us, but we are bound all the same. I want to put myself into your hands. They are things faint and slight in themselves, as physical facts, but they are like the detonator of a bomb: they let loose the explosive. He walked out into the Champs Elysées and sat down. He had informed her that to leave him would be a choice to live a life of meager subsistence. Only you seem to me since the time when I knew you in Paris to have changed—to have changed in some subtle manner which I find at times utterly bewildering. It is I who am persecuted by the man who calls himself your husband.
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