； we shouldn't 。。。 it 。。。〃 There were no words。
〃Don't tell me what to do；〃 he repeated sullenly； and then went into the
bedroom。 She was left alone in the rocking chair with Danny； who was sleeping
again。 Five minutes later Jack's snores came floating out to the living room。
That had been the first night she had slept on the couch。
Now she turned restlessly on the bed； already dozing。 Her mind； freed of any
linear order by encroaching sleep； floated past the first year at Stovington；
past the steadily worsening times that had reached low ebb when her husband had
broken Danny's arm； to that morning in the breakfast nook。
Danny outside playing trucks in the sandpile； his arm still in the cast。 Jack
sitting at the table； pallid and grizzled； a cigarette jittering between his
fingers。 She had decided to ask him for a divorce。 She had pondered the question
from a hundred different angles； had been pondering it in fact for the six
months before the broken arm。 She told herself she would have made the decision
long ago if it hadn't been for Danny； but not even that was necessarily true。
She dreamed on the long nights when Jack was out； and her dreams were always of
her mother's face and of her own wedding。
（Who giveth this woman？ Her father standing in his best suit which was none
too good — he was a traveling salesman for a line of canned goods that even then
was going broke — and his tired face； how old he looked； how pale： I do。）
Even after the accident — if you could call it an accident — she had not been
able to bring it all the way out； to admit that her marriage was a lopsided
defeat。 She had waited； dumbly hoping tha