He is FURIOUS, hands clenched in fists, and then open, and then closed again. He walks around the room, steps as TENSE as the look on his face, NERVOUS, unable to decide where to begin. He has forced his wife to take a seat, and he has now her vitreous stare on him. Finally, he THROWS her own papers at her, LETTERS, secrets that should’ve been burned, but ended up in his hands instead. His men worked for him, gathering information regarding her activity. All she has done, has been done behind his back, and that seems to be the only thing that bothers his own guilty conscience. He is, after all, not a SAINT himself, and the weight of her crimes is not heavier than the one of his own. ❛ You fooled me. And you thought I would not find out. ❜ he blames her, suddenly standing still right before her, hands placed at his hips. ❛ I know everything. ❜
‘ please - ’ the girl remains perfectly still - poised, even - as her husband alternates between pacing and progressively irate utterings, truly angered with her for perhaps the first time in their marriage. her mouth feels sour, stomach curdles as he throws her papers, months of labor, months of deceit, all soon to be gone. a strange dizziness has overtaken her mind, bitterness creeping up her throat, knuckles clenched in little white pearls. she’s rather numb, can’t quite believe this is happening. ‘ - alfie, please! i worked so hard on those. ’ letters, notes, all tumble to the ground, lying scattered at her feet. by some miracle, there’s no crack in her voice, no hint of tears - simply a senseless, paralyzed fear. ‘ stop it, stop it! don’t touch them! ’
