Under the plumed hat, her eye kindled. She was afraid people would follow her, she was afraid of the dark, open doorways she passed, and afraid of the blazes of light; she was afraid to be alone, and she knew not what it was she feared. You do not love your husband, you have married him for a position —to escape from—things which you feared. Someone ought to be with him until the doctor arrives. Pretty good stuff, some of it. Analysis would come later, when the primitive conscience, satisfied, would cease to dominate his thought and action.
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