As he explained, for
the future they would both be lovers all their life long; and no
logical argument in reply could she think of. If she tried to write
a letter, he would snatch away the paper her dear hands were
pressing and fall to kissing it--and, of course, smearing it. When
he wasn't giving her pins and needles by sitting on her feet he was
balancing himself on the arm of her chair and occasionally falling
over on top of her. If she went shopping, he went with her and made
himself ridiculous at the dressmaker's. In society he took no
notice of anybody but of her, and was hurt if she spoke to anybody
but to him. Not that it was often, during that month, that they did
see any society; most invitations he refused for them both,
reminding her how once upon a time she had regarded an evening alone
with him as an entertainment superior to all others. He called her
ridiculous names, talked to her in baby language; while a dozen
times a day it became necessary for her to take down her back hair
and do it up afresh. At the end of a month, as I have said, it was
she who suggested a slight cessation of affection.
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