Sexus by Henry Miller — Read

With the death of her father Mona became more and more obsessed with the idea of getting married. Perhaps on his death-bed she had made a promise which she was trying to keep. Each time the subject came up a little quarrel ensued. (It seemed that I took the subject too lightly.) One day, after one of these tiffs, she began packing her things. She wasn't going to stay with me another day. As we had no valise she had to wrap her things in brown paper. It made a very bulky, awkward bundle.

You'll look like an immigrant going down the street with that, I said. I had been sitting on the bed watching her manoeuvres for a half hour or more. Somehow I couldn't convince myself that she was leaving. I was waiting for the usual last minute break-down-a flare of anger, a burst of tears, and then a tender, heart-warming reconciliation.