As she went on, the story began to sound more and more like a recitation. He was a manly man, free from any strong maternal strain, and he had loved his dark-eyed, dainty bright-colored, and active little wife with a real vein of passion in his sentiment. She stood there limply and did not act to resist him. It has been very humiliating. She wondered who the girl might belong to as she patted dirt over the shallow grave. The decision had been sound. “Why shouldn’t one face the facts of one’s self?” She stood up.
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