A Short Story : All Of Her '

eye on the institution of marriage is very characteristic of her stories (11). In "The Story of an Hour", we do not so much see as intuit Mrs. Mallard's skeptical eye.

Growing tired of slaving over devilish onions and sensing rain in the cold air, Ms. Hopewell and Mrs. Freeman ceased their labor and limped inside seeking cold beverages. Upon entering the kitchen, Ms. Hopewell recalled that the Freemans had gifted her a decent bottle of wine which she had yet to open. She proposed that Mrs. Freeman join her in the indulgence. Mrs. Freeman happily agreed, so Ms. Hopewell filled a glass halfway with the hearty burgundy liquid. The ladies began to discuss the latest gossip over their wine as ominous clouds rolled in.

She would, through habit, have yielded to his desire; not with any sense of submission or obedience to his compelling wishes, but unthinkingly, as we walk, move, sit, stand, go through the daily treadmill of the life which has been portioned out to us. "Edna, dear, are you not coming in soon?" he asked again, this time fondly, with a note of entreaty. " No; I am going to stay out here."

Gallant’s use of sarcasm establishes narrative voice, and it turn provides social commentary on the shallowness of modern marriages. Gallant states that “From a series of helpful college lectures, she [Carol] learned that a common interest, such as a liking for Irish Setters, was the true basis for happiness,... Similar economic backgrounds, financial security, belonging to the same church - these were the pillars of the married union.” Gallant uses sarcasm to convey that these college lectures were not helpful at all. In fact, the college lectures - a symbol for society - spouts absurd facts about happiness in a marriage.

William watched Reverend Flowers and Mary storm out of his office. His hands shook with anger as he poured himself another glass of vodka. He sat back on the couch and stared up at the ceiling. He knew it would be a long, sleepless night on the couch. After the exchange with Mary, he doubted he would ever spend another night in the same bed with Mary.

He was silent. Watching the guests waltzing — crystalline and beautiful — their faces alight with the numbing adrenaline of alcohol and the sweaty exhilaration of a party. He’s had his tongue dipped in the honey of the party but something doesn’t sit well in his stomach, the once-sweet taste now churning poison in his gut. He gulped down a heady swallow of his drink, running the back of his hand along his mouth.

She saw a dust-bearing bee sink into the sanctum of a bloom; the thousand sister-calyxes arch to meet the love embrace and the ecstatic shiver of the tree from root to tiniest branch creaming in every blossom and frothing with delight. So this was a marriage! (11)

Finally, Jane had enough after Mike tried to hurt her. He came home and Jane counted eight beers. She tried to take away his

She starts to walk on the path of getting to work. Barely awake and aware of her surroundings. As she continues to head to work she starts immediately regretting her life and choices. She hears the sounds of the street and the workers working. She sees the people that were at her wedding. They were exhausted and lacked tons of enthusiasm. They were all drained and out of spirit. She even noticed little Stanislovas who was ill from his act of overeating sausages and sarsaparilla. He is standing at his lard machine, rocking unsteadily, and slightly closing his

Up until recently the small, fine unit that was their marriage had been predictable. Now disrupted by erratic behaviour, shifting gazes and finally exotic dinners of all things. Her unpredictability upset him, and as he ate the spices stung his tongue. He ground his food cruelly to fine shreds and swallowed forcefully, and the tartness of his rage clung to his palette and tasted an unpleasing aftertaste.

Although there was the familiar, homey feeling of peace, there was also a sense of apprehension that would not go away. Muriel headed towards Sister Leta, the cook who was busy toasting homemade wheat bread and percolating the coffee. Muriel started serving coffee and toast to those who wanted it. There was no current information at this point about what had occurred, or to explain the light, yet there was growing concern. Even though there was coffee to be served, tables to be set up, and spoons and napkins to set out, the reporter side of Muriel came out, as she searched for anybody who might have information about what was going on. She loved to dig for information, and this was a night to dig.

A loud cracking sound resonated through the cellar beneath the Salvati household as Adelina swung and then clutched her iron spade to her chest, breathing heavily. Riccardo Margheri’s body crumpled to the ground at her feet, his head leaking red in her least favorite odor. She turned to her Beloved, who had been so squirmy when she took him into her household that she’d had to tie him to a chair. He just stared at her now with a cold, analytical expression. What was her Beloved thinking about?

Relationships have flaws; however, Michael and Frances’ holds more flaws than most. Nothing about their relationship should be envied. “Are you really happily married?” (Shaw, 1034). should be a question that never needs to be asked in a

She spent much of the day contemplating whether the time had come to get one of those divorces she’d heard so much about. Most of her friends had had one, so was it not now her turn to indulge?

Every morning she wakes up wishing she didn't , she forces herself up and out of bed. She walks to her closet and gets dressed, She puts on her dark clothes and her boots. . She curls her hair. Then she puts dark shades of makeup on her pale skin. She stares at the girl in the mirror, her reflection