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She
did
not
censure
him
.
She
made
it
clear
that
she
took
it
for
granted
that
men
had
degrading
instincts
which
constituted
the
secret
,
ugly
part
of
marriage
.
She
was
condescendingly
tolerant
.
She
smiled
,
in
amused
distaste
,
at
the
intensity
of
what
he
experienced
.
"
It
’
s
the
most
undignified
pastime
I
know
of
,
"
she
said
to
him
once
,
"
but
I
have
never
entertained
the
illusion
that
men
are
superior
to
animals
.
"
His
desire
for
her
had
died
in
the
first
week
of
their
marriage
.
What
remained
was
only
a
need
which
he
was
unable
to
destroy
.
He
had
never
entered
a
whorehouse
;
he
thought
,
at
times
,
that
the
self
-
loathing
he
would
experience
there
could
be
no
worse
than
what
he
felt
when
he
was
driven
to
enter
his
wife
’
s
bedroom
.
He
would
often
find
her
reading
a
book
.
She
would
put
it
aside
,
with
a
white
ribbon
to
mark
the
pages
.
When
he
lay
exhausted
,
his
eyes
closed
,
still
breathing
in
gasps
,
she
would
turn
on
the
light
,
pick
up
the
book
and
continue
her
reading
.
He
told
himself
that
he
deserved
the
torture
,
because
he
had
wished
never
to
touch
her
again
and
was
unable
to
maintain
his
decision
.
He
despised
himself
for
that
.
He
despised
a
need
which
now
held
no
shred
of
joy
or
meaning
,
which
had
become
the
mere
need
of
a
woman
’
s
body
,
an
anonymous
body
that
belonged
to
a
woman
whom
he
had
to
forget
while
he
held
it
.
He
became
convinced
that
the
need
was
depravity
.
He
did
not
condemn
Lillian
.
He
felt
a
dreary
,
indifferent
respect
for
her
.
His
hatred
of
his
own
desire
had
made
him
accept
the
doctrine
that
women
were
pure
and
that
a
pure
woman
was
one
incapable
of
physical
pleasure
.
Through
the
quiet
agony
of
the
years
of
his
marriage
,
there
had
been
one
thought
which
he
would
not
permit
himself
to
consider
:
the
thought
of
infidelity
.
He
had
given
his
word
.
He
intended
to
keep
it
.
It
was
not
loyalty
to
Lillian
;
it
was
not
the
person
of
Lillian
that
he
wished
to
protect
from
dishonor
—
but
the
person
of
his
wife
.
He
thought
of
that
now
,
standing
at
the
window
.
He
had
not
wanted
to
enter
her
room
.
He
had
fought
against
it
.
He
had
fought
,
more
fiercely
,
against
knowing
the
particular
reason
why
he
would
not
be
able
to
withstand
it
tonight
.
Then
,
seeing
her
,
he
had
known
suddenly
that
he
would
not
touch
her
.
The
reason
which
had
driven
him
here
tonight
was
the
reason
which
made
it
impossible
for
him
.
He
stood
still
,
feeling
free
of
desire
,
feeling
the
bleak
relief
of
indifference
to
his
body
,
to
this
room
,
even
to
his
presence
here
.
He
had
turned
away
from
her
,
not
to
see
her
lacquered
chastity
.
What
he
thought
he
should
feel
was
respect
;
what
he
felt
was
revulsion
.
"
.
.
.
but
Dr
.
Pritchett
said
that
our
culture
is
dying
because
our
universities
have
to
depend
on
the
alms
of
the
meat
packers
,
the
steel
puddlers
and
the
purveyors
of
breakfast
cereals
.
"
