He took it up and read it, with the air of one to whom the contents were
not news, and then asked how I came by it.
"It was taken out of the hands of a woman who was in the act of posting
it," I said. "She confessed that it was one of a number of such letters
which had been inspired, if not written, by your friend Alma."
"My friend Alma!"
"Yes, your friend Alma."
His face assumed a frightful expression and he said:
"So that's how it is to be, is it? In spite of the admission you have
just made you wish to imply that this" (holding out the letter) "is a
trumped-up affair, and that Alma is at the bottom of it. You're going to
brazen it out, are you, and shelter your condition under your position
as a married woman?"
I was so taken by surprise by this infamous suggestion that I could not
speak to deny it, and my husband went on to say:
"But it doesn't matter a rush to me who is at the bottom of the
accusation contained in this letter. There's only one thing of any
consequence--is it true?"
My head was reeling, my eyes were dim, my palms were moist, I felt as if
I were throwing myself over a precipice but I answered:
"It is perfectly true.
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