"
"And isn't she? To you?"
"Of course," I said, nodding my head. "Yes. She IS..."
And while I don't remember anything my uncle said or did at the
wedding, I do remember very distinctly certain little things, scrutiny,
solicitude, a curious rare flash of intimacy in my aunt's eyes. It
dawned on me that I wasn't hiding anything from her at all. She was
dressed very smartly, wearing a big-plumed hat that made her neck seem
longer and slenderer than ever, and when she walked up the aisle with
that rolling stride of hers and her eye all on Marion, perplexed into
self-forgetfulness, it wasn't somehow funny. She was, I do believe,
giving my marriage more thought than I had done, she was concerned
beyond measure at my black rage and Marion's blindness, she was looking
with eyes that knew what loving is--for love.
In the vestry she turned away as we signed, and I verily believe she was
crying, though to this day I can't say why she should have cried, and
she was near crying too when she squeezed my hand at parting--and she
never said a word or looked at me, but just squeezed my hand.
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