those subtler thought waves which passed from him to her when he was
with Carlotta, which told her instantly where he had been and what he
had been doing. She would ask him where he had been and he would say:
"Oh, up to White Plains" or "out to Scarborough," but nearly always when
he had been with Carlotta she would flare up with, "Yes, I know where
you've been. You've been out again with that miserable beast of a woman.
Oh, God will punish her yet! You will be punished! Wait and see."

Tears would flood her eyes and she would berate him roundly.

Eugene stood in profound awe before these subtle outbreaks. He could not
understand how it was that Angela came to know or suspect so accurately.
To a certain extent he was a believer in spiritualism and the mysteries
of a subconscious mind or self. He fancied that there must be some way
of this subconscious self seeing or apprehending what was going on and
of communicating its knowledge in the form of fear and suspicion to
Angela's mind. If the very subtleties of nature were in league against
him, how was he to continue or profit in this career? Obviously it could
not be done. He would probably be severely punished for it. He was half
terrified by the vague suspicion that there might be some laws which
tended to correct in this way all the abuses in nature. There might be
much vice and crime going seemingly unpunished, but there might also be
much correction going on, as the suicides and deaths and cases of
insanity seemed to attest. Was this true? Was there no escape from the
results of evil except by abandoning it entirely? He pondered over this
gravely.

Getting on his feet again financially was not such an easy thing. He had
been out of touch now so long with things artistic--the magazine world
and the art agencies--that he felt as if he might not readily be able to
get in touch again. Besides he was not at all sure of himself. He had
made sketches of men and things at Speonk, and of Deegan and his gang on
the road, and of Carlotta and Angela, but he felt that they were weak in
their import--lacking in the force and feeling which had once
characterized his work. He thought of trying his hand at newspaper work
if he could make any sort of a connection--working in some obscure
newspaper art department until he should feel himself able to do better;
but he did not feel at all confident that he could get that. His severe
breakdown had made him afraid of life--made him yearn