"What, then?" asked Strickland.
I tried to curl my lip.
"Well, if you acknowledge that, there doesn't seem much more
to be said."
"I don't think there is."
I felt that I was not carrying out my embassy with any great skill.
I was distinctly nettled.
"Hang it all, one can't leave a woman without a bob."
"Why not?"
"How is she going to live?"
"I've supported her for seventeen years. Why shouldn't she
support herself for a change?"
"She can't."
"Let her try."
Of course there were many things I might have answered to this.
I might have spoken of the economic position of woman,
of the contract, tacit and overt, which a man accepts by his
marriage, and of much else; but I felt that there was only one
point which really signified.
"Don't you care for her any more?"
"Not a bit," he replied.
The matter was immensely serious for all the parties concerned,
but there was in the manner of his answer such a cheerful
effrontery that I had to bite my lips in order not to laugh.
I reminded myself that his behaviour was abominable.
I worked myself up into a state of moral indignation.
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