ABSTRACT
Alice jolted in the back of the truck. She was battered, mentally and physically, from her night's experience; more undramatically, from her life since marriage. Near to tears of fatigue, she was unable to tolerate the sight of Rosemary in her ridiculous finery; it seemed impossible that any man could be attracted by such a slut. It was not her get-up that was sluttish; it was not her body; it was her self. Yet she had a tautness of mind which could not be said of herself or Roland.
