y husband swore violently. I was unused to oaths at that time and they
cut me like whipcord, but all the same my pulse was bounding joyfully.
"Bad luck, my lord, but only one thing to do now," shouted the valet.
"What's that?" said my husband, growling.
"Sleep in Blackwater to-night, in hopes of weather mending in the
morning."
Anticipating this course, he had already engaged rooms for us at the
"Fort George."
My heart fell, and I waited for my husband's answer. I was stifling.
"All right, Hobson. If it must be, it must," he answered.
I wanted to speak, but I did not know what to say. There seemed to be
nothing that I could say.
A quarter of an hour afterwards we arrived at the hotel, where the
proprietor, attended by the manageress and the waiters, received us with
rather familiar smiles.
THIRTY-FIFTH CHAPTER
When I began to write I determined to tell the truth and the whole
truth. But now I find that the whole truth will require that I should
invade some of the most sacred intimacies of human experience. At this
moment I feel as if I were on the threshold of one of the sanctuaries
of a woman's life, and I ask myself if it is necessary and inevitable
that I should enter it.
I have concluded that it _is_ necessary and inevitable--necessary to the
sequence of my narrative, inevitable for the motive with which I am
writing it.
Four times already I have written what is to follow. In the first case I
found that I had said too much. In the second I had said too little. In
the third I was startled and shocked by the portrait I had presented of
myself and could not believe it to be true. In the fourth I saw with a
thrill of the heart that the portrait was not only true, but too true.
Let me try again.
I entered our rooms at the hotel, my husband's room and mine, with a
sense of fear, almost of shame. My sensations at that moment had nothing
in common with the warm flood of feeling which comes to a woman when she
finds herself alone for the first time wi
Notka biograficzna
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