She had been fighting down this thought for days: that Hoddy did not care, that he did not love her, that he had mistaken a vagary of the mind for a substance, and now regretted what he had done— married a girl who was not his equal in anything. I'll think no more about her. In one of these seats, at the end of the aisle farthest removed from the chancel, the widow took her place, and addressed herself fervently to her devotions. Instead, he could not get beyond these minor details—why she wore the dress, whence she had come, and whither she was bound. He took her there on the cold, dirty floor, his nails digging into her back, his teeth sinking into her breasts. Paris, always beautiful even in the darkness, glittered away to the horizon. Lucy could feel blood welling underneath a bump half swelling and already half-healing on her scalp.
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