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Once she stopped in front of a mirror and looked at herself thoughtfully. He crawled underneath the covers with her. She could not stir hand or foot. “It isn’t objections exactly. On the one hand, she seemed to think plainly and simply, and would talk serenely and freely about topics that most women have been trained either to avoid or conceal; and on the other she was unconscious, or else she had an air of being unconscious—that was the riddle—to all sorts of personal applications that almost any girl or woman, one might have thought, would have made. They did not speak until he had driven past town limits and were on the highway. She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying. He removed his cocked hat and came towards her. Grace, confidence, the power of movement even, seemed gone from her.
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