"
Her spirit had been very far away, she wanted time to get it back before
she saw him--time to know in some sort what she felt now; what this mite
lying beside her had done for her and him. The thought that it was his,
too--this tiny, helpless being--seemed unreal. No, it was not his! He
had not wanted it, and now that she had been through the torture it was
hers, not his--never his. The memory of the night when she first yielded
to the certainty that the child was coming, and he had come home drunk,
swooped on her, and made her shrink and shudder and put her arm round
her baby. It had not made any difference. Only--Back came the old
accusing thought, from which these last days she had been free: 'But
I married him--I chose to marry him. I can't get out of that!' And she
felt as if she must cry out to the nurse: "Keep him away; I don't
want to see him. Oh, please, I'm tired." She bit the words back. And
presently, with a very faint smile, said:
"Now, I'm ready."
She noticed first what clothes he had on--his newest suit, dark grey,
with little lighter lines--she had chosen it herself; that his tie was
in a bow, not a sailor's knot, and his hair brighter than usual--as
always just after being cut; and surely the hair was growing down
again in front of his ears. Then, gratefully, almost with emotion, she
realized that his lips were quivering, his whole face quivering.
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