“The white unaggressive woman who corrects and nurses and serves, and is worshipped and betrayed—the martyr-queen of men, the white mother. Maybe half a year, counting this summer. “You cannot seriously believe,” he said, “that at the present moment I care a snap of the fingers whether I have any dinner or not. She was my first love. If, when he returned, he blew out the light, she would go to bed; but if the light burned on for any length of time, she would go silently to the study curtain to learn if his agony was still upon him. "You will never leave me," sobbed the poor woman, straining him to her breast. 9.
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