He thought place was something that could be renegotiated.

He thought that reputation was a public perception to be managed, that the story of what he was could be amended by the right meeting, the right statement, the right quiet arrangement — that his standing in the world, like a woman’s, was a thing granted and adjusted and patched over by powerful people in rooms.

He still could not grasp the simple fact at the center of his own ruin: that some things are not perceptions to be managed but truths to be lived with.

He struck his wife on his wedding night.