“Of course, after your art exhibit and the scene of last night, Mary, it will be impossible for us to live longer together.”
She stared at him, utterly aghast‚ÅÝ‚Äîvoiceless and numb.
“I have seen the crisis approaching for some time, and the Negro business settles it,” he continued. “I have now decided to send you to my home in Alabama, to my father or your brother. I am sure you will be happier there.”
He rose. Bowing courteously, he waited, coldly and calmly, for her to go.
All at once she hated him and hated his aristocratic repression; this cold calm that hid hell and its fires. She looked at him, wide-eyed, and said in a voice hoarse with horror and loathing:
“You brute! You nasty brute!”