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his mother, for letting him in th’ room. He’d no right t’ave
been there. Men makes so much more of things than they
should, once they start brooding.’
’Did he mind so much?’ said Connie in wonder.
’Yes, he sort of couldn’t take it for natural, all that pain.
And it spoilt his pleasure in his bit of married love. I said to
him: If I don’t care, why should you? It’s my look-out!—But
all he’d ever say was: It’s not right!’
’Perhaps he was too sensitive,’ said Connie.
’That’s it! When you come to know men, that’s how they
are: too sensitive in the wrong place. And I believe, unbe-
known to himself he hated the pit, just hated it. He looked
so quiet when he was dead, as if he’d got free. He was such
a nice-looking lad. It just broke my heart to see him, so still
and pure looking, as if he’d WANTED to die. Oh, it broke
my heart, that did. But it was the pit.’
She wept a few bitter tears, and Connie wept more. It was
a warm spring day, with a perfume of earth and of yellow
flowers, many things rising to bud, and the garden still with
the very sap of sunshine.
’It must have been terrible for you!’ said Connie.
’Oh, my Lady! I never realized at first. I could only say:
Oh my lad, what did you want to leave me for!—That was all
my cry. But somehow I felt he’d come back.’
’But he DIDN’T want to leave you,’ said Connie.
’Oh no, my Lady! That was only my silly cry. And I kept
expecting him back. Especially at nights. I kept waking
up thinking: Why he’s not in bed with me!—It was as if
MY FEELINGS wouldn’t believe he’d gone. I just felt he’d