She had
"made all the arrangements," she reported, and nervously appealed for
approval, asking if she hadn't shown herself "pretty practical" in
such matters. George acquiesced absent-mindedly, not thinking of what
she said and not realizing to what it committed him.
He began to realize it now, as he wandered about the dismantled house;
he was far from sure that he was willing to go and live in a "three-
room apartment" with Fanny and eat breakfast and lunch with her
(prepared by herself in the "kitchenette") and dinner at the table
d'hote in "such a pretty Colonial dining room" (so Fanny described it)
at a little round table they would have all to themselves in the midst
of a dozen little round tables which other relics of disrupted
families would have all to themselves. For the first time, now that
the change was imminent, George began to develop before his mind's eye
pictures of what he was in for; and they appalled him. He decided
that such a life verged upon the sheerly unbearable, and that after
all there were some things left that he just couldn't stand.
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