Neith Boyce

“ Maxine laughed suddenly and got up, stretching her arms over her head.
"How trivial you make it seem!"
"Well, it is trivial. Don't you know It's the little things that count and pile up and finally crush you? Can you imagine living with a person who keeps you constantly in a state of exasperation and quarrels? It's like having a pin eternally jabbing you. Life narrows down into just the question of getting rid of that pin."
"I'm sorry," said Maxine, in her slow, grave voice.
Mrs. Saville, moving restlessly about, stopped below a shelf crowded with things in plaster and clay. ”

“ It was a love match, surely," said Maxine slowly. "It ought to have ended 'And they were happy ever after.’"
"You know better. Love isn't everything. I do care for George still, but I can never live with him again. If s like a file on a grindstone—oh!"
Mrs. Saville pulled off her gloves and began to slip the diamonds and sapphires off and on her thin, nervous fingers.
"It was simply impossible. You ought to thank me, Maxine, for saving you from marrying him!" ”

“ I have a dear little entresol and no end of jolly people. You must come and visit me some time. ... George lives in London with his syndicate."
"Well, and is that your plan of life?" demanded Maxine, looking up from under her stony brows like a classic fate. "It doesn't seem to me a very cheerful one."
"Life is a compromise. It's better to do without some things you would like than to put up with things you hate. I hate George's way of wearing his hair, and his boots, and his calling me 'Frances.' Why couldn't he call me Frank, as everybody else does? ”