If they had been met and vanquished in secret, that also must have been some time ago.

He took up an _Imitation of Christ_, bound in the peculiar shade of lilac which at that moment prevailed, and turned it in his hand.
"You are overwrought," he said, after a moment's pause, "and I particularly dislike a scene." She did not heed him.
"I listened at the door," she said, in a harsh, unnatural voice.
"I am perfectly aware of it." A sort of horror seemed to have enveloped the familiar room.

The very furniture looked like well-known words arranged suddenly in some new and dreadful meaning.
"You never loved me," she said.
He did not answer, but he looked gravely at her for a moment, and she was ashamed.
"Why don't you divorce me if you think me so wicked ?" "For the sake of the children," he said, with a slight change of voice.
Teddy, the eldest, had been born in this room.

Did either remember that gray morning six years ago?
There was a silence that might be felt.
"Who drew the short lighter ?" she whispered, before she knew that she had spoken.
"I am not here to answer questions," he replied.

"And I have asked none.
Neither, you will observe, have I blamed you.