"I threw
my life away an' killed you-that's what I did!"
He rose and raged up and down the room till he had mastered
himself.
"What did you think I meant that day of the thrashing?" he said,
turning suddenly. He spoke of it as if it were but a month or two
past.
She lifted her head and looked at him in a slow way. She seemed
to be remembering. The tears lay on her hollow cheeks.
"I thought you was ashamed of me. I didn't know-why-"
He uttered a snarl of sell-disgust.
"You couldn't know. Nobody could tell what I meant. But why
didn't you write? I was ready to come back. I only wanted an
excuse-only a line."
"How could I, Will-after your letter?"
He groaned and turned away.
"And Will, I-I got mad too. I couldn't write."
"Oh, that letter-I can see every line of it! F'r God's sake, don't think
of it again! But I didn't think, even when I wrote that letter, that I'd
find you where you are. I didn't think, I hoped anyhow, Ed Kinney
wouldn't-"
She stopped him with a startled look in her great eyes. "Don't talk
about him-it ain't right. I mean it don't do any good. What could I
do, after Father died? Mother and I. Besides, I waited three years
to hear from you, Will.
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