She had a feeling as though something had dropped from her eyes, as though she had just discovered herself for the first time—discovered herself as a sleepwalker might do, abruptly among dangers, hindrances, and perplexities, on the verge of a cardinal crisis. “You belong to me,” he said fiercely; “the marriage certificate is in my pocket. It presented itself in the likeness of a great, gray, dull world—a brutal, superstitious, confused, and wrong-headed world, that hurt people and limited people unaccountably. ” “I don’t want absolution. ‘Well?’ she said. “Why can’t you tell people that you are what you are? Why all the secrecy?” She looked beyond the farmhouse. He hesitated. ” “But the marriage itself?” Sir John asked.
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