8As Yvonne Koopermann Millson watched her husband trot, then walk, then hurry again to the parlor door she suddenly visualized him collapsing on the pavement, dripping blood. Why didn't I just stab him in the heart, she thought. Oh, Bobbie, Bobbie, I'm sorry. She rushed to the door, but stopped and pressed her back against it instead. Maybe it was because this was the first argument they ever had in which she had finally broken even. In verbal battles math majors usually find themselves sorely outgunned by English majors. But she felt no triumph, fancied no gleeful ticker-tape parade, only the gloom and drear of gathering the dead and wounded after a vicious standoff.
You don't know, Bobbie, you just can't know.
Her reserves nearly drained, the battle sent her racing to the darkest corne
