；　we　shouldn't　。。。　it　。。。〃　There　were　no　words。

〃Don't　tell　me　what　to　do；〃　he　repeated　sullenly；　and　then　went　into　the

bedroom。　She　was　left　alone　in　the　rocking　chair　with　Danny；　who　was　sleeping

again。　Five　minutes　later　Jack's　snores　came　floating　out　to　the　living　room。

That　had　been　the　first　night　she　had　slept　on　the　couch。

Now　she　turned　restlessly　on　the　bed；　already　dozing。　Her　mind；　freed　of　any

linear　order　by　encroaching　sleep；　floated　past　the　first　year　at　Stovington；

past　the　steadily　worsening　times　that　had　reached　low　ebb　when　her　husband　had

broken　Danny's　arm；　to　that　morning　in　the　breakfast　nook。

Danny　outside　playing　trucks　in　the　sandpile；　his　arm　still　in　the　cast。　Jack

sitting　at　the　table；　pallid　and　grizzled；　a　cigarette　jittering　between　his

fingers。　She　had　decided　to　ask　him　for　a　divorce。　She　had　pondered　the　question

from　a　hundred　different　angles；　had　been　pondering　it　in　fact　for　the　six

months　before　the　broken　arm。　She　told　herself　she　would　have　made　the　decision

long　ago　if　it　hadn't　been　for　Danny；　but　not　even　that　was　necessarily　true。

She　dreamed　on　the　long　nights　when　Jack　was　out；　and　her　dreams　were　always　of

her　mother's　face　and　of　her　own　wedding。

（Who　giveth　this　woman？　Her　father　standing　in　his　best　suit　which　was　none

too　good　—　he　was　a　traveling　salesman　for　a　line　of　canned　goods　that　even　then

was　going　broke　—　and　his　tired　face；　how　old　he　looked；　how　pale：　I　do。）

Even　after　the　accident　—　if　you　could　call　it　an　accident　—　she　had　not　been

able　to　bring　it　all　the　way　out；　to　admit　that　her　marriage　was　a　lopsided

defeat。　She　had　waited；　dumbly　hoping　tha