Mike and Shari sat at the kitchen table eating potato chips. That was supposed to be Madame Valade. He hated travelling second-class with her—indeed, he never did—but he also disliked travelling in the same train when his daughter was in an inferior class, because of the look of the thing. His invalid wife and her money had been only the thin thread that held his life together; beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing, interesting, memorable affairs. ’ ‘Who, Joan, who? Of whom do you speak?’ ‘Mrs Sindlesham. After all, she was a consummate actress.
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