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"A man either runs the show or not" says Clint. For him, there's none of this guff about a husband keeping his feet off the couch! Mag only removes his shoes— gently — to make sure he's comfortable.
that has always been a bug with me. It's not a question of getting anything special. Probably most of the time it's just bills or something, but I just don't like to have anybody open my mail." . . . It called forth smoke-curling memories. "Mag did it twice, you know," Clint said, "and then we put the ceiling back in the building." Clint would be the first to concede that, far from representing prying, the idea of mail inspection was probably motivated by a romantic belief of Mag's that husbands and wives have no secrets from one another . . . "Women are brought up with all these fairy tales," he scoffed. "Everything should be the vine-covered cottage and you come home at night and sit by the fire. Well, maybe some people can settle down to this, but I never could. I'm not the type. Nothing is that glorious and wonderful. Mag might have had different dreams of what marriage would be like. I guess I destroyed a few of these." . . . Maggie is not. now and never has been the world's most docile girl. She's bright, capable, attractive and well educated. She has a high spirit, a mind and a will of her own. Clint will attest that she can give as good as she gets. Yet it is his unblinking boast that in their going-on-eight-years of marriage, she has been tamed down to where she purrs at his whims and caprices like a (Continued on page 86)
When her chores are over, he graciously permits her to sit on his lap and show her "appreciation." From their smiles, Mag's obviously found compensations in being dutiful — and Clint has found marriage is one catastrophe with its own built-in cure!
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