The knowledge she had acquired by her own suffering stood her in good
stead now. She did not mistake, as the Rose he had married might have
done, the weakness of his response for coldness--indifference.
She went back and began making love to him more gently; released herself
from his arms, led him over to her one big chair, and made him sit down
in it, settled herself upon the arm of it and contented herself with one
of his hands. Presently he took one of hers, bent his face down over it
and brushed the back of it with his lips.
The timidity of that caress, with all it revealed to her, was too much
for her. She swallowed one sob, and another, but the next one got away
from her and she broke out in a passionate fit of weeping.
That roused him from his daze a little, and he pulled her down in his
arms--held her tight--comforted her.
When she got herself in hand again, she got up, went away to wash her
face, and coming back in the room again, lighted a reading-lamp and drew
down the blinds.
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