But he said, "We will look at houses, then." X.
Nothing mystifies a man more than a woman's aberrations from some point at which he, supposes her fixed as a star.

In these unfurnished houses, without steam or elevator, March followed his wife about with patient wonder.

She rather liked the worst of them best: but she made him go down into the cellars and look at the furnaces; she exacted from him a rigid inquest of the plumbing.

She followed him into one of the cellars by the fitful glare of successively lighted matches, and they enjoyed a moment in which the anomaly of their presence there on that errand, so remote from all the facts of their long-established life in Boston, realized itself for them.
"Think how easily we might have been murdered and nobody been any the wiser!" she said when they were comfortably outdoors again.
"Yes, or made way with ourselves in an access of emotional insanity, supposed to have been induced by unavailing flat-hunting," he suggested.
She fell in with the notion.

"I'm beginning to feel crazy.