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"Perhaps I shall be able to look at it in that way
after a while, Anne. Just now I feel too tired and
indifferent to think about the future. I'm--I'm--Anne,
I'm lonely. I miss Dick. Isn't it all very strange?
Do you know, I was really fond of poor Dick--George, I
suppose I should say--just as I would have been fond of
a helpless child who depended on me for everything. I
would never have admitted it--I was really ashamed of
it--because, you see, I had hated and despised Dick so
much before he went away. When I heard that Captain
Jim was bringing him home I expected I would just feel
the same to him. But I never did--although I continued
to loathe him as I remembered him before. From the
time he came home I felt only pity--a pity that hurt
and wrung me. I supposed then that it was just because
his accident had made him so helpless and changed. But
now I believe it was because there was really a
different personality there. Carlo knew it, Anne--I
know now that Carlo knew it. I always thought it
strange that Carlo shouldn't have known Dick. Dogs are
usually so faithful. But HE knew it was not his master
who had come back, although none of the rest of us
did. I had never seen George Moore, you know. I
remember now that Dick once mentioned casually that he
had a cousin in Nova Scotia who looked as much like him
as a twin; but the thing had gone out of my memory, and
in any case I would never have thought it of any
importance. You see, it never occurred to me to
question Dick's identity. Any change in him seemed to
me just the result of the accident.
"Oh, Anne, that night in April when Gilbert told me he
thought Dick might be cured! I can never forget it.
It seemed to me that I had once been a prisoner in a
hideous cage of torture, and then the door had been
opened and I could get out. I was still chained to the
cage but I was not in it. And that night I felt that a
merciless hand was drawing me back into the cage--back
to a torture even more terrible than it had once been.
I didn't blame Gilbert. I felt he was right. And he
had been very good--he said that if, in view of the
expense and uncertainty of the operation, I should
decide not to risk it, he would not blame me in the
least. But I knew how I ought to decide--and I
couldn't face it. All night I walked the floor like a
mad woman, trying to compel myself to face it. I
couldn't, Anne--I thought I couldn't--and when morning
broke I set my teeth and resolved that I WOULDN'T. I
would let things remain as they were. It was very
wicked, I know. It would have been just punishment for
such wickedness if I had just been left to abide by
that decision. I kept to it all day. That afternoon I
had to go up to the Glen to do some shopping. It was
one of Dick's quiet, drowsy days, so I left him alone.
I was gone a little longer than I had expected, and he
missed me. He felt lonely. And when I got home, he
ran to meet me just like a child, with such a pleased
smile on his face. Somehow, Anne, I just gave way
then. That smile on his poor vacant face was more than
I could endure. I felt as if I were denying a child
the chance to grow and develop. I knew that I must
give him his chance, no matter what the consequences
might be. So I came over and told Gilbert. Oh, Anne,
you must have thought me hateful in those weeks before
I went away. I didn't mean to be--but I couldn't think
of anything except what I had to do, and everything and
everybody about me were like shadows."
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