[ A twinge, to think of something so simple as breakfast with her husband. A morning. The softness of his face in sleep, the clever sharpness after coffee, the space between them that is hers.

She shakes her head a little, comes back, is warm too. ]

I should like to witness it, so that I do not feel I am the only one jealousy makes intolerable.

There is little comparison, however. I am fond of you, and I think Byerly would murder my husband if he could manage it.