Her expression was a little changed, less innocent, more discerning. She was retuning, fifths spilling from the sliver of light underneath the door like milk. “What are you two whispering about?” She turned towards Martin. The immense disillusionment that awaited him! The devastating disillusionment! She had a vague desire to run after him, to state her case to him, to wring some understanding from him of what life was to her. It resembled Mardi Gras, and she thought disdainfully of New Orleans. ‘My God!’ he said, ‘I’ll go after them and kill him.
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