Your wife will be a placid, blond, rather plump
German Fraulein, of excellent family and no imagination.
Men of your type always select negative wives. Twenty
years ago she would have run to bring you your Zeitung
and your slippers. She would be that kind, if
Zeitung-and-slipper husbands still were in existence.
You will be fond of her, in a patronizing sort of way,
and she will never know the difference between that and
being loved, not having a great deal of imagination, as
I have said before. And you will go on becoming more
and more famous, and she will grow plumper and more
placid, and less and less understanding of what those
komisch medical journals have to say so often about her
husband who is always discovering things. And you will
live happily ever after--"
A hand gripped my shoulder. I looked up, startled,
into two blue eyes blazing down into mine. Von Gerhard's
face was a painful red. I think that the hand on my
shoulder even shook me a little, there on that bleak and
deserted lake drive. I tried to wrench my shoulder free
with a jerk.
"You are hurting me!" I cried.
A quiver of pain passed over the face that I had
thought so calmly unemotional.
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