"Isn't that only because you've forgotten how to enjoy yourself? You
never have time for anything decent--"

"As for instance?"

"Well, going for walks, or music, or books, or seeing interesting
people. You never do anything that's really worth doing any more than
I do."

"I always think you could make this room much nicer, if you liked,"
she observed.

"What does it matter what sort of room I have when I'm forced to spend
all the best years of my life drawing up deeds in an office?"

"You said two days ago that you found the law so interesting."

"So it is if one could afford to know anything about it."

("That's Herbert only just going to bed now," Joan interposed, as a
door on the landing slammed vigorously. "And then he won't get up in
the morning.")

Ralph looked at the ceiling, and shut his lips closely together. Why,
he wondered, could Joan never for one moment detach her mind from the
details of domestic life? It seemed to him that she was getting more
and more enmeshed in them, and capable of shorter and less frequent
flights into the outer world, and yet she was only thirty-three.