We've always loved one another, and never said anything about
it, and you understand, and I understand. But my heart's torn to pieces
by this, torn to rags, and things drop out I've kept in it. It's true he
wasn't a husband much for me at the last. But he was my child, George,
he was my child and all my children, my silly child, and life has
knocked him about for me, and I've never had a say in the matter; never
a say; it's puffed him up and smashed him--like an old bag--under my
eyes. I was clever enough to see it, and not clever enough to prevent
it, and all I could do was to jeer. I've had to make what I could of
it. Like most people. Like most of us.... But it wasn't fair, George.
It wasn't fair. Life and Death--great serious things--why couldn't they
leave him alone, and his lies and ways? If WE could see the lightness of
it--
"Why couldn't they leave him alone?" she repeated in a whisper as we
went towards the inn.
CHAPTER THE SECOND
LOVE AMONG THE WRECKAGE
I
When I came back I found that my share in the escape and death of my
uncle had made me for a time a notorious and even popular character.
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