... Lee," she inquired, "you
love me very much, don't you?"
"Why, of course," he spoke almost impatiently.
"That is all I have, you see," she admitted; "and that was what was in
my mind. The other women I know are so different; they seem to have so
many more interests than I, and to care less for them than I do for my
one. It is exactly as though I belonged before the war and they came
afterwards. It is true--I am old-fashioned. Well, I don't care if you
don't! But, just the same, it's a problem; I don't want to be out of
the times or narrow; and yet I can't, I don't know how, and I honestly
don't want to, change.
"It wouldn't be any better if I smoked more cigarettes or drank more
gin, that would be silly." Lee was startled by the similarity of her
words to his unformed thought. "No one likes fun better than I do, but
the fun now is so different," her voice had the sound of a wail, "it's
nothing but legs and getting kissed by anybody but your husband. I
don't want other men to kiss me, Lee, only you. And I want you to be
glad about that, to care for it more than anything else. You do, don't
you?"
Again she hesitated, and again he assured her, in a species of
annoyance, of his feeling.
"It's because I adore you," Fanny insisted; "it may be awfully foolish
and ark-like to say, but you're all I want, absolutely." Her manner
grew indignant.
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