I told him lies, simply. I didn't know
they were lies, I suppose; but I was too angry and too unjust
to care whether they were or not. On the journey from France I
said a few little words to him--just enough, thank Heaven! He
was so sweet to her in those last days--and she to him. You
know one side of her _is_ the managing woman--and the other
(I've only found it out since Desmond's death)--well, she seems
to be just asking you to creep under her wings and be mothered!
She mothered him, and she has mothered me since he shut his
dear eyes for ever. Oh, why won't she mother us all--for good
and all!--father first and foremost.
'I told you something about him last time I wrote, but there is
a great deal more to tell. The horrible thing is that he seems
not to care any more for any of his old hobbies. He sits there
in the library day after day, or walks about it for hours and
hours, without ever opening a book or looking at a thing.
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