he broke away from the bed with a sudden gesture

"I'm your husband," he said. "And it's your duty to obey me, particularly in an affair like this. I order you to write to your mother." The corners of her lips turned downwards. Angered by her mute obstinacy, he broke away from the bed with a sudden gesture. "You do as you like," he cried, putting on his overcoat, "and I shall do as I like. You can't say I haven't warned you. It's your own deliberate choice, mind you! Whatever happens to you you've brought on yourself." He lifted and shrugged his shoulders to get the overcoat exactly into place on his shoulders. She would not speak a word, not even to insist that she was indisposed. He pushed his trunk outside the door, and returned to the bed. "You understand," he said menacingly; "I'm off." She looked up at the foul ceiling. "Hm!" he sniffed, bringing his reserves of pride to combat the persistent silence that was damaging his dignity. And he went off, sticking his head forward like a pugilist. "Here!" she muttered. "You're forgetting this." He turned. She stretched her hand to the night-table and held up a red circlet. "What is it?" "It's the bit of paper off the cigar you bought in the Rue Montmartre this afternoon," she answered, in a significant tone. He hesitated, then swore violently, and bounced out of the room. He had made her suffer, but she was almost repaid for everything by that moment of cruel triumph. She exulted in it, and never forgot it.