His need for honesty, however
special, was outraged on every facet by the thought of an intrigue. Lee
reconstructed it in every detail--he saw the moments, doubtful and
hurried and surreptitious, snatched in William Grove's house; the
servants, with their penetration of the tone of an establishment,
knowing and insufferable; he lived over the increasing dissatisfaction
with quick embraces in the automobile, and the final indignities of
lying names and rooms of pandering and filthy debasement. The almost
inevitable exposure followed, the furies and hysterical reproaches.
That, indeed, would have involved them fatally: in such circumstances
the world would be invincible, crushing; holding solidly its front
against such dangerous assault, it would have poured over Savina and
him a conviction of sin in which they would unavoidably have perished.
As it was, he had told her--with, in himself, the feeling of a
considerable discovery--that they were to a marked degree superior: he
could find no more remorse at his heart than Savina showed. This,
exactly, was his inner conviction--that, since he had given something
not in Fanny's possession, he had robbed her of nothing. It was a new
idea to him and it required careful thought, a slow justification. It
answered, perhaps, once and for all, his question about the essential
oneness of marriage. Yes, that was a misconception; marriage in an
ideal state he wasn't considering, but only his own individual
position.
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