It is so remarkable that I must set in down on paper.
Now I understand her nice hands and all her ways. I understand, too, how
it came about that I found her one day turning over the pages of a
volume by Anatole France, as though she could read French.
Her parents had been married twelve years when she was born. When she
was thirteen they celebrated their silver wedding. Until that moment in
her life she had grown up in the belief that they were a perfectly
united couple. The father was a chemist in a small town, and they lived
comfortably. The silver wedding festivities took place in their own
house. At dinner the girl drank some wine and felt it had gone to her
head. She left the table, saying to her mother, "I am going to lie down
in my room for a little while." But on the way she turned so giddy that
she went by mistake into a spare room that was occupied by a cavalry
officer, a cousin of her mother's. Too tired to go a step farther, she
fell asleep on a sofa in the darkened room.
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