He woke up with a start and the alarm clock read 4:46 P. There was a wall; she was always encountering it; the one time she was able to break through this wall was when the part in his hair was crooked. “I wonder,” she said, “why one writes him sentences like that? It’ll have to go,” she decided, “I’ve written too many already. I love my husband. Ruth sighed; Spurlock stood up and drew his hand across his forehead as if awakening from a dream. She would become defensive—what she did would be the thing that mattered. I shouldn't care to have attention constantly drawn to us.
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