growing incoherent. "What d'you mean, screeching like a maniac?

Like a wild woman? The neighbors'll think I've killed you. What
d'you mean, anyway!"

"I mean I'm tired of watching it, that's what. Sick and
tired."

"Y'are, huh? Well, young lady, just let me tell YOU
something----"

He told her. There followed one of those incredible quarrels, as
sickening as they are human, which can take place only between
two people who love each other; who love each other so well that
each knows with cruel certainty the surest way to wound the
other; and who stab, and tear, and claw at these vulnerable spots
in exact proportion to their love.

Ugly words. Bitter words. Words that neither knew they knew
flew between them like sparks between steel striking steel.

From him: "Trouble with you is you haven't got enough to do.
That's the trouble with half you women. Just lay around the
house, rotting. I'm a fool, slaving on the road to keep a
good-for-nothing----"

"I suppose you call sitting around hotel lobbies slaving! I
suppose the house runs itself! How about my evenings? Sitting
here alone, night after night, when you're on the road."