Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her. He was content to watch her accepting compliments and gaudy bouquets full of red roses, white carnations, and purple statice. They made a stratum into which Ann Veronica was now plunged up to her neck; it had become her stratum. By this time, several of the terrified domestics appeared with lights. "If you thought that, why did you give me this job?"—his voice faint and thick. “So, since when does a grown man have to sneak behind the Laundromat to smoke a cigarette?” She asked 115 him. "No; I don't think I'd laugh.
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