Before he married Effie.

She could see them. Pink and gold girls, fluffy and fat; girls with red
hair; brown haired girls with wide slippery mouths. Then Effie. Then
herself, with her thick bobbed mane and white face. And the beautiful
mouth he praised so.

Was it the disgust of knowing that you were only one of a procession? Or
was it that Effie's sad, sharp face slipped between?

And the end of it. The break-down, when Effie was ill.

His hysterical cries. "My wife, Sharlie, my wife. We oughtn't to have
done it....

"... I can't forgive myself, Sharlie. I've been a brute, a beast, a
stupid animal....

"... When I think of what we've done to her--the little innocent
thing--the awful unhappiness--I could kill myself."

"Do you mean she knows?"

"She thinks. That's bad enough. If she knew, it would kill her."

"You said she wouldn't care. You said there was another man."

"There wasn't."

"You lied, then?"