She nodded. The pallor was gone and her face was flushed, but her voice was quiet and dull. “I have all of them. He wrote eleven letters in that month, but I never saw him again. He kept saying he would come soon, and he would as soon as he could, but he was a coward.”
“Did he tell you how she learned about it?”
“Yes, it was in the first letter.”
“And when he died, and you knew she had killed him, you thought you would avenge him yourself, was that it?”
“Yes. What else could I do?”
“You might — but no matter. You loved him?”
“I do love him.”
“Did he love you?”
“Yes — oh, yes!”
“Better than he loved his wife?”