For a whole year I delayed taking the final step; and if I hesitated so
long before realizing my intention, it was partly in order to test my
own feelings, and partly for practical reasons; for I _am_ practical,
and I could not fancy myself leaving my house in the Old Market Place
without knowing where I was going to.
My real reason is so simple and clear that few will be content to accept
it. But I have no other, so what am I to do?
You know, like the rest of the world, that Richard and I have got on as
well as any two people of opposite sex ever can do. There has never been
an angry word between us. But one day the impulse--or whatever you like
to call it--took possession of me that I must live alone--quite alone
and all to myself. Call it an absurd idea, an impossible fancy; call it
hysteria--which perhaps it is--I must get right away from everybody and
everything. It is a blow to Richard, but I hope he will soon get over
it. In the long run his factory will make up for my loss.
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