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Webster, Henry Kitchell, 1875-1932

"The Real Adventure"

It was all pretty shabby, of course, for the
Aldriches, and in a way, what you deserved for marrying a person like
that. Still, that was no reason for not putting the best face on it you
could.--And that's why you came to find me!"
"No, it isn't," he said furiously. His elaborately assumed manner had
broken down, anyway. "I came because I couldn't help coming. I've been
sick--sick ever since that night over the way you were living, over the
sort of life I'd--driven you to. I've felt I couldn't stand it. I wanted
you to know that I'd assent to anything, any sort of terms that you
wanted to make that didn't involve--this. If it's the stage, all
right.--Or if you'd come home--to the babies. I wouldn't ask anything
for myself. You could be as independent of me as you are here...."
He'd have gone on elaborating this program rather further but the look
of blank incredulity in her face stopped him.
"I say things wrong," he concluded with a sudden humility that quenched
the spark of anger in her eyes.


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