Many friends came to see him, and
as for me, I spent all my days with him, reading softly to him or
talking with him. And I never gave up hope of his getting better
some day. He probably knew that his time was short, but I think
that he did not have the heart to tell me. Sometimes he would say,
"I wonder whether your people would take you back to your home if
I died." Or, "If I should die, and some other man who loved you,
and who you knew was good and faithful, should ask you to marry
him, you ought to accept him, even if you did not love him." I
never could bear to hear it or to think of it then.
One raw, dark November morning I started on the long walk from his
mother's house, where I had stayed since he took to his bed, to
go and spend the day with him as usual. By this time I was well
acquainted with every one in the hospital. The nurses were good
to me. They took off my shoes and dried and warmed them for me, and
some brought me afternoon coffee, which otherwise was contraband in
the sick-rooms. But this morning the nurse in charge of Raymond's
ward turned her back upon me and pretended not to hear me when I
bid her good-morning.
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