“Martin?” Evelyn was at the front door when I arrived home. “Where have you been? Are you all right?”
I could see she had been up all night.
“Don’t be a goose, woman,” I said, tapping my staff on the floor. “I met an old friend.”
“You still have that stick, I see,” Evelyn said, her voice icy. “I thought you were going to throw it away.”
“I decided otherwise.” I pushed past her.
Although it was no business of Evelyn’s how I spent my time, she seemed determined to control my life, if not by black looks and a cold attitude, then by other methods. I found the marital bed an unwelcoming environment and noticed various little signs of her displeasure over the next few days as I resumed my old life.
One sign was a few verses in her hand that turned up one morning when I arrived, bleary-eyed
