It’s a mismatch. He swore that I was his wife, that chance had given me to him at last. “I should like to understand you,” he said. He had found Spurlock. He stood a little anxious and fussy, bothered by the responsibility of her, entirely careless of what her life was or was likely to be, ignoring her thoughts and feelings, ignorant of every fact of importance in her life, explaining everything he could not understand in her as nonsense and perversity, concerned only with a terror of bothers and undesirable situations. "There's no outlet that way. It’s wrong in the eyes of most people. Here are their letters.
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