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"They stayed together for our sake as long as they could,
whining and creaking against each other like two millstones
until they had ground everything to powder between them.
There was nothing more to grind, I suppose, so the mill stopped.
"I remember when I was a boy. They did not fight, but
there was something in their voices that made you think they
would like to. Mother abused him and used plain talk, always
ending with tears. Father kept cool and quiet, but his voice
was full of hatred and so hard and cutting. I lay in my bed
listening to this performance that was forced on me. I used
to think what a relief it would be to put a knitting needle right
through my head, in at one ear and out at the other. The
voices created a physical pain in my ears and spread to the
whole of my head. Well, that was the beginning—they have
done their duty as parents, and now it is all over.
"Hatred is an ugly thing; it makes everything ugly that
comes in contact with it. I went to see my sister last summer.
We have never been sympathetic, but I thought it disgusting
to see her with that husband of hers. Sometimes I saw him
kiss her—taking his pipe out of his thick wet mouth, he kissed
his wife. I saw Sophy get quite white when he touched her.
He is a pope in his pulpit and a libertine at home.
"As to you and me—it was quite natural. I understood it
afterwards—that the fine, delicate threads between us should
break, that they could not stand the atmosphere at home. When
I had gone from you that time I regretted it, and meant to
write to you, but do you know why I did not? I had a letter
from my father, telling me he had been to see you and that he
thought I ought to resume my relations with you. I have a
superstitious objection to any advice from that quarter, so I
did not write.
"All the time since we parted I have been longing for you,
Jenny, dreaming of you, and recalling again and again to my
memory the time I spent here with you. Do you know which
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