So they offered me the choice between giving up the one I loved
or leaving the home that had been mine so long. I chose the last,
for I could not do otherwise. I packed my clothes and said good-by
to my friends, of whom many treated me with coldness, since they,
too, thought I must be ungrateful to those who had done so much
for me. Homeless and alone I went to Raymond's brother, who had a
little country home near the city of Copenhagen. With him and his
young wife I stayed until one day my Raymond returned, much better
apparently, yet not the same as before. Suffering, bodily and
mental, had left its traces upon his face and frame, but his love
for me was greater than ever, and he tried hard to make up to me
all I lost; as if I had really lost anything in choosing him before
all the world.
We were very happy at first in the joy of being together. But
soon he suffered a relapse, and decided to go to the hospital for
treatment. He never left it again, except once or twice for a walk
with me. All the long, beautiful summer days he spent in his room,
the last few months in bed.
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