However, the main reason for my devotion to the cause was my concern for Molly. She’d invested her soul, nothing less, in her hopes for a pleasant life of work together, side by side, in the “perfect” home she’d made. Pleasant! I grew to hate that word. I don’t know exactly why; perhaps she used it too often. By the end of that summer, I’d begun to feel that her hopes were doomed. I was behaving “badly” again; after controlling myself all day, I came home frazzled and on edge and not at all pleasant. I was edgy too, “antsy,” for implicit in her “perfect” life was the condition of celibacy for me. I could see that wasn’t going to work, and it didn’t.