“Is there any urgency?” The doctor bent over his patient, who seemed to have fallen asleep. She shut her lips hard, her jaw hardened, and she set herself to struggle with him. She, perhaps, displayed herself rather consciously as a fine person unduly limited. Her head ached with a hollow pain. Inexplicably there flashed into vision the Chinese wedding procession in the narrow, twisted streets of the city, that first day: the gorgeous palanquin, the tomtoms, the weird music, the ribald, jeering mob that trailed along behind. I will do anything and everything I can to become your equal. I told her it was the end. The effort of self-repression cost him a sob. You do not love your husband, you have married him for a position —to escape from—things which you feared. There is a musical programme, and we have the windows open and blinds up, and a pink lamp shade over the piano lamp—a sort of advertisement of the place, you know. He took up his hat and went.
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