If you can't do this, you will make me wish that I had never met you, and in the end I am sure it won't be possible for us to go on living together.' She left this note, in a blank envelope, on the hall table, and went out to walk for an hour.
It was the end of one more acute stage in their progressive discord.

By keeping at home for a fortnight.

Monica soothed her husband and obtained some repose for her own nerves.

But she could no longer affect a cordial reconciliation; caresses left her cold, and Widdowson saw that his company was never so agreeable to her as solitude.

When they sat together, both were reading.