plication of dead reality； then what had his under…life to do
with her？ One's social wife was almost a material symbol。
Whereas now she was something more vivid to him than anything in
conventional life could be。 She gave the plete lie to all
conventional life； he and she stood together； dark； fluid；
infinitely potent； giving the living lie to the dead whole which
contained them。
He watched her pensive； puzzled face。
〃I don't think I want to marry you；〃 she said； her brow
clouded。
It piqued him rather。
〃Why not？〃 he asked。
〃Let's think about it afterwards； shall we？〃 she said。
He was crossed； yet he loved her violently。
〃You've got a museau； not a face；〃 he said。
〃Have I？〃 she cried； her face lighting up like a pure flame。
She thought she had escaped。 Yet he returned……he was not
satisfied。
〃Why？〃 he asked； 〃why don't you want to marry me？〃
〃I don't want to be with other people；〃 she said。 〃I want to
be like this。 I'll tell you if ever I want to marry you。〃
〃All right；〃 he said。
He would rather the thing was left indefinite； and that she
took the responsibility。
They talked of the Easter vacation。 She thought only of
plete enjoyment。
They went to an hotel in Piccadilly。 She was supposed to be
his wife。 They bought a wedding…ring for a shilling； from a shop
in a poor quarter。