But to be moved out of his house bag and baggage! Roger strode wrathfully up the street.
"It's your duty to talk to her," Edith had said.

And he meditated darkly on this: "Maybe I will and maybe I won't.

I know my duties without being told.
How does Edith know what her mother liked?
We had our own likings, her mother and I, and our own ideas, long after she was tucked into bed.

And yet she's always harping on 'what mother would have wanted.' What I should like to know--right now--is what Judith would want if she were here!" With a pang of utter loneliness amid these vexing problems, Roger felt it crowding in, this city of his children's lives.

As he strode on down Broadway, an old hag selling papers thrust one in his face and he caught a glimpse of a headline.