70 <9> A MARRIAGE, PART II She dreamt of the inn they had stopped at after her suicide attempt, the flea-ridden hostel her husband had angrily toted her to after the incident at the country house. The music confused and distracted her, and made her struggle against a feeling of intoxication. The gentleman appealed to shook his head in reply, coughed as only a Dutchman can cough, and raising his hand from the bowl of his pipe, went through precisely the same mysterious ceremonial as the Master. Jolly nice girl, too. She had never seen so much food in her life as she saw at her own wedding feast. “A wonderful piece of work,” he declared. It’s not like we’re getting married. "Were I in your place," said Smith, "I should be apprehensive of Wild, because he's a declared enemy. And for me there is only one treasure-house. I suppose that’s the gist of the whole thing. “Anna!” she repeated. Flowers, theatre boxes, carriages, the “open sesame” to the whole world of pleasure.
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