Prev | Current Page 130 | Next

Maxwell, W. B., 1866-1938

"The Devil's Garden"

Certainly the despairing anguish that she had felt,
the submission to his unpardoning wrath, the tacit agreement that the
discovery gave him license to do anything he liked with her, not only
then but throughout the future--all this pertained to a state of mind
which could be coldly recollected, but which could not be warmly
revived.
How he had knocked her about! Standing before the toilet-glass and
looking at her bruises musingly, she tried to remember in what part of
the room, and at which period of the long volcanic discussion, each
one had been received. All the neck marks could be accounted for on
the bed, when he was holding her down and shaking her; that graze
above the knee, outside the right thigh had come when she rolled over
by the chest of drawers. Raising her eyes in order to see if the lip
and eyebrow continued to mend satisfactorily, she was surprised by the
general expression of her face. Positively she was smiling. The smile
vanished at once, but it had been there--a gentle, melancholy, yet
proud little smile. And reflecting, she understood that deep in her
thoughts there was truly pride whenever she dwelt upon her husband's
violence. It did prove so conclusively how immense was his love.


Pages:
118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142
Mam Marzenie Pajacyk Fundacja Hobbit Podaruj Zycie Kidprotect