‘Damn you, what’s the matter with you?’ he snapped in frustration. ” “Of course,” he said, reaching out his hand tentatively for his hat, “I could go away even now. She’d prefer that I read classic literature, of course, but she only reads paperback romance novels, so she can’t exactly complain. And all the old—the old trick of shrinking up like a snail at a touch. All this— the island and its affairs—was an old story; but her own peculiar distaste had vanished to a point imperceptible, for she was seeing the island through her husband's eyes, as in the future she would see all things. And not a worthy tome in sight.
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