Only the fact that we are unaware how well our nearest know us enables us to live with them.
Love is the most impregnable refuge of self-esteem, and we hate the eye that reaches to our
nakedness. If Glennard did not hate his wife it was slowly, sufferingly, that there was born in him
that profounder passion which made his earlier feeling seem a mere commotion of the blood. He
was like a child coming back to the sense of an enveloping presence: her nearness was a breast
on which he leaned.