She found it so when they were in the taxicab on their way to Victoria.
Her smallness made her unable to stem the torrent of his excited
caresses. For a time she submitted to them, still entirely serious. Then
a kind of petulant composure enabled her to chill him. Gaga laughed in a
sort of giggle, holding Sally's hands, and looking adoringly into her
eyes, and trying to kiss her. Instead of giving him kisses, instead of
wishing him to kiss her, Sally found herself aware already of a slight
repugnance. As she looked forward to spending days and nights with him
her heart sank. She was not shocked. She was not afraid. She knew that
there would come a time when, after boring her, Gaga's kisses would
become troublesome. And it was too late now to withdraw. She was too
deeply into her new scheme of life. But this feverish, insatiably
amorous, weak Gaga would get on her nerves. So this was what marriage
might be. Sally's jaw stiffened. Yes, if she allowed it to be so. But
Sally was Sally. Kisses should presently be favours. Gaga should learn
his place. A hardness showed. She pushed aside the clinging arms, and
sat erect.

"No," cried Sally, sharply, at his convulsive motion of return. "Not
now. We're.... People looking at us...."

She did not want to be hard. She did not want to grow hard and bitter.
She had seen women who were both, and she disliked them. But with Gaga
she would have to be hard. Otherwise he would bore her to desperation.
So there was at this moment no longer any softness in Sally's heart
towards Gaga. She resented him. As they pushed through the crowd at
Victoria, Sally had a sudden impulse to run away. A shudder fled through
her. A girl with less resolute will, or perhaps of greater delicacy,
would have made some movement. But Sally merely stood with her head
lowered, and considered the position. It was not his love that she
minded; it was his hysterical possessiveness, the sense that he would
always be there and claiming convulsively those small incessant
intimacies which accompany marriage. Sally could not put her perception
into coherent terms; but she was assured of the fact. Gaga would want
too much, and that not in an adorably masterful way, but with exacting
and pertinacious excitement bred from his weakness and neurotic avidity.
The domination of the weak man would be a tyranny, as it always is.
Sally thought: "He'll be a nuisance. I shall want to do him in by the
time we get back. Oh, Lor! You