The same old lines and verses, over and over, until there had come times when shrieking would have relieved her. “We were bound to do this when you kissed me,” she sobbed through her tears. “While we were minding the children they stole our rights and liberties. “Oh! please don’t lose yourself in a wilderness of secondary considerations,” she said. It was bleeding again. I love some one else. Her loneliness was consuming, Lucia. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. And when she learned that she had been doubly cheated, what then? His thoughts began to fall on her side of the scales, and his own misery grew lighter as he anticipated hers.
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