"
"I wish I could help you a little."
"Help me, dearest? It is like your goodness to think of such a thing;
but it is impossible. No, there is nothing tragic, or terrible, or awe
compelling, in my fate. It is nothing, I suppose, beyond the common
lot of a great portion of humanity. It is simply--" she hesitated a
moment, while a choking sob rose in her throat; she clasped her white
hands above her head in a stern effort at self control, and then flung
them down with an irrepressible moan--"it is simply that I am hungry,
and thirsty, and cold, and tired and I want to go back to my old home,
to my only home in the heart of the man I love. My poor child, do I
startle you by talking in this passionate lawless, way? You invited my
confidence, and it is such a relief to give it to you. To every one
else in the world I must keep up the desolate show of appearing
heartless and lifeless, incapable of compassion, of suffering and
yearning. But with you, for a little while, I want to be myself. I am
not a mere drawing-room ornament, prized by its owner, and gazed at by
curious beholders. I am a wretched woman.
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