Anyhow there's no reason to drag Norah
Monogue into this. The matter is perfectly clear. I will not have dirty old
men like that coming into the house."
"Clare, you shall not speak of my friends--"
"Oh, shan't I? When I married you I didn't marry all your old horrid
friends--"
"Drop it, Clare--or I shall be angry--"
She sprang to her feet, faced him. He had never in his life seen such fury.
She stood with her little body drawn to its full height, her hands
clenched, her breast heaving under her white evening dress, her eyes
glaring--
"You shan't! You shan't! I won't have any of them here. I hate Cornwall and
all its nasty people and I hate Brockett's and all those people you knew
there. When you married me you gave them all up--all of them. And if you
have them here I won't stay in the house--I'll leave you. All that part of
your life is nothing to do with me. _Nothing_--and I simply won't have it.
You can do what you like but you choose between them and me--you can go
back to your old life if you like but you go without me!"
She burst from the room, banging the door behind her. She had behaved
exactly like a small child in the nursery. As he looked at the door he was
bewildered--whence suddenly had this figure sprung? It was some one whom he
did not know. He could not reconcile it with the dignified Clare, proud as
a queen, crossing a ball-room or the dear beloved Clare nestling into a
corner of his arm-chair, her face against his, or the gentle friendly Clare
listening to some story of distress.
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