Martha Roy was almost always harried when her husband Frank was around. She was a nervous woman, and Frank knew how to get to her. She was always ready to jump in his presence, sure that he would somehow or other manage to find something to scold her over. At times she had thought of leaving Frank. It seemed wrong to spend so much of her life feeling miserable. Yet the courage or the determination always failed her. She stuck around, and she continued to worry about how to please Frank.

The scrambled eggs and bacon were sitting at his place at the table, waiting for him. Martha began to fidget. She knew how Frank hated cold eggs. She tugged absently at the ties of her robe. She would give him two more minutes, then she would put his breakfast in the oven.

Just at that moment Frank appeared. He was freshly shaven. He wore a clean, neatly pressed shirt. He looked handsome, Martha thought, even though he was carrying an unnecessary twenty pounds around his middle.

He rubbed his hands together in anticipation when he saw the food. He scarcely looked at his wife. She stood by the stove watching him as he wolfed down his meal. Long ago, Martha had given up trying to make breakfast time conversation. Frank spent his breakfasts with the sports page. Martha had her breakfast after he left for the high school. The arrangement kept peace in the family.

"Will you make me some more toast, Martha? I'm hungry as a bull this morning." He looked up at his wife over the paper. "What the hell are you looking so hangdog about? God, woman, why don't you comb your hair in the morning and try to make yourself look civilized? Shit, how's a guy supposed to get it up around something that looks like that?"