“At me. He never really mattered to me.”
The afternoon was so gently warm and dim. Red roofs of the cottages burned among the blue haze. He loved the day. He could feel, but he could not understand, what Clara was saying.
“But why did you leave him? Was he horrid to you?”
She shuddered lightly.
“He — he sort of degraded me. He wanted to bully me because he hadn’t got me. And then I felt as if I wanted to run, as if I was fastened and bound up. And he seemed dirty.”