Is that
shocking? We women are so wrapped in deceit that we feel ashamed of
confessing such things. Yet it is true, I miss Richard. Not the husband
or companion, but the lover.
What use in trying to soothe my senses by walking for hours through the
silent woods.
Lillie, in the innocence of her heart, sent me a tiny Christmas tree,
decorated by herself and her lanky daughters. Sweets and little presents
are suspended from the branches. She treats me like a child, or a sick
person.
Well, let it be so! Lillie must never have the vexation of learning that
I detested her girls simply because they represented the youthful
generation which sooner or later must supplant me.
I have made good use of my eyes, and I know what I have seen: the same
enmity exists between two generations as between the sexes.
While the young folk in their arrogant cruelty laugh at us who are
growing old, we, in our turn, amuse ourselves by making fun of them. If
women could buy back their lost youth by the blood of those nearest and
dearest to them, what crimes the world would witness!
How I used to hate Richard when I saw him so completely at his ease
among young people, and able to take them so seriously.
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