“She was my friend.”
“Wasn’t Robin your friend, too?”
“Yes. But poor Prissie, she was paralyzed.”
“It wasn’t paralysis.”
“What was it then?”
“Pure hysteria. Robin wasn’t in love with her, and she knew it. She developed that illness so that she might have a hold on him, get his attention fastened on her somehow. I don’t say she could help it. She couldn’t. But that’s what it was.”
“Well, she died of it.”
“No. She died of pneumonia after influenza. I’m not blaming Prissie. She was pitiable. But he ought never to have married her.”
“I don’t think you ought to say that.”
“You know what he was,” said Robin’s wife. “And look at him now.”