Page 421 - tender-is-the-night

vaguely that Dick had planned for her to have it, she lay on
her bed as soon as she got home and wrote Tommy Barban
in Nice a short provocative letter.
But that was for the daytime—toward evening with the
inevitable diminution of nervous energy, her spirits flagged,
and the arrows flew a little in the twilight. She was afraid of
what was in Dick’s mind; again she felt that a plan underlay
his current actions and she was afraid of his plans—they
worked well and they had an all-inclusive logic about them
which Nicole was not able to command. She had somehow
given over the thinking to him, and in his absences her ev-
ery action seemed automatically governed by what he would
like, so that now she felt inadequate to match her intentions
against his. Yet think she must; she knew at last the number
on the dreadful door of fantasy, the threshold to the escape
that was no escape; she knew that for her the greatest sin
now and in the future was to delude herself. It had been a
long lesson but she had learned it. Either you think—or else
others have to think for you and take power from you, per-
vert and discipline your natural tastes, civilize and sterilize
you.
They had a tranquil supper with Dick drinking much
beer and being cheerful with the children in the dusky
room. Afterward he played some Schubert songs and some
new jazz from America that Nicole hummed in her harsh,
sweet contralto over his shoulder.

“Thank y’ father-r
Thank y’ mother-r

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