AC dBooks

I have concluded that it _is_ necessary and inevitable--necessary to the
sequence of my narrative, inevitable for the motive with which I am
writing it.
Four times already I have written what is to follow. In the first case I
found that I had said too much. In the second I had said too little. In
the third I was startled and shocked by the portrait I had presented of
myself and could not believe it to be true. In the fourth I saw with a
thrill of the heart that the portrait was not only true, but too true.
Let me try again.
I entered our rooms at the hotel, my husband's room and mine, with a
sense of fear, almost of shame. My sensations at that moment had nothing
in common with the warm flood of feeling which comes to a woman when she
finds herself alone for the first time with the man she loves, in a
little room which holds everything that is of any account to her in the
world. They were rather those of a young girl who, walking with a candle
through the dark corridors of an empty house at night, is suddenly
confronted by a strange face.


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