"You know that in my wretched anger and madness I—"
"Oh, please do not speak of it," she said; "it is so bad even in thought."
"But will you never forgive me, and care for me? We have to live our lives together."
"Pray let us not speak of it now," she said, in a weary voice; then, breathlessly: "It is of much more consequence that you should love me —and the child."
He drew himself up with a choking sigh, and spread out his arms to her."Oh, my wife!" he exclaimed.
"No, no," she cried, "this is unreasonable; we know so little of each other. . . . Good-night, again."
He turned at the door, came back, and, stooping, kissed the child on the lips. Then he said: "You are right. I deserve to suffer. . . . Good-night."
But when he was gone she dropped on her knees, and kissed the child many times on the lips also.
If fumbling human fingers do not meddle with itMiseries of this world are caused by forcing issuesReading a lot and forgetting everythingThe world never welcomes its desertersThere is no influence like the influence of habitThere should be written the one word, "Wait."Training in the charms of superficialityWe grow away from people against our willWe speak with the straight tongue; it is cowards who lie