Only one thing emerged with any reasonable clarity in her mind at once, and that was that unless she was saved from drowning by an unmarried man, in which case the ceremony is unavoidable, or totally destitute of under-clothing, and so driven to get a trousseau, in which hardship a trousseau would certainly be “ripping,” marriage was an experience to be strenuously evaded. We both understood that. She was new, unlike any other woman he had met in all his wide travel. That’s— that’s my private life. John spent the first weeks of summer backpacking in Europe, and she heard occasional news from Michelle of his whereabouts. Everything was done in the most legal and imposing way, but the whole thing was a fraud. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously.
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