In eternity they were married.

"The secret is hate," Collins said mildly. "Rather, the secret lies in hating well."

They seized his arms and pulled them out, stretching them until his elbows threatened to turn inside out. Tom howled, "You can't! You can't!"
"That is your opinion," Collins said, and approached, one shining nail between thumb and forefinger, the mallet already lifted in his right hand.
"NOOO!" Tom bellowed. Pease flattened his fingers back, exposing the palm.
"The pain won't be as bad as you anticipate," Collins said, and pressed the point of the nail into Tom's left palm.

As in the classroom, he spoke with little preparation; ... But in the course of his ramble, something reminded him of dreams, and he said, "Gee, dreams can take you to funny places. Why, I remember dreaming last week that I had committed a terrible crime, and the police were looking for me and eventually I holed up in a kind of big warehouse or something, and suddenly I realized that I didn't have anywhere else to go, that was it, they were going to get me and I was going to spend the rest of my life in jail...Boys, that was a terrible feeling. Really terrible."
That afternoon a sheet of paper appeared on the notice board outside the library which read: Last week I dreamed that a fat bore from New Hampshire was beating me to death with a pillowcase. That was terrible. Really terrible.

Tom flopped in the chair, the chair where she had sat--and picked up his book. He willed himself into Nero Wolfe's round of the orchid room, the kitchen, and office, but read only ten pages before he gave up. That orderly, talkative adult world was not his. ... (Part III, THE GOOSE GIRL, chapter 10)