“Yes,” she said again.
“Thank you,” I answered, and went out.
Is not that simply monstrous, simply awful beyond words? I have been beside myself tonight with rage, with amazement, with perplexity. Oh, think what I have suffered at the hands of that frightful man! And what have I done to him—why should he have treated me so? What does it mean? I am baffled every way I turn.
The thing is like flame in my blood—like acid in my veins. It makes me hysterical with pain. I cry aloud.
—What do you mean by it, you monster, you wretch? Why, here for eleven weeks I have been hanging upon your every word—eleven weeks of my life spent in torment—absolutely flung away! Eleven weeks! And you have lied to me—and you have kicked me about like a dog!
What do you mean? What do you mean? Tell me, above all, why you did it! Were you torturing me on purpose? Or did you simply forget it? But then, how could you forget it when you had to tell me all those miserable falsehoods? And when you had to write me those letters?
And then to-day!
That is the thing that goads me most—to-day! I stood there cringed before you like a beaten cur—you kicked me—you spit upon me! And it was every bit of it a lie! That insolent rage of yours—why, it wasn't even genuine! You weren't even angry—you knew that you had no reason to be angry—that you had treated me as if I were a worm to tread on! And yet you stood there and abused me!