Page:Confessions of a wife (IA confessionsofwif00adamiala).pdf/167
you realize, my dear, how hard it is becoming for us to talk? I so often displease you, God knows why. Or you hurt me, though I am sure you do not mean to. I find sometimes that if I have anything of any consequence to say to you, I must write it, or not say it at all. You call it second nature in me to write my heart out. I wonder if it is first nature, and speech only the second one?
"At all events, I found the sentence you had marked in that old English book yesterday. I think you can understand that it has troubled me a little. Do you mind telling me, Dana, what you meant by marking it?
"Your loving
"Marna, Wife."
"Thursday afternoon.
"Dear Dana: If you have really forgotten what sentence it was, there is nothing to be said.
"Marna."
Friday evening.
Did he forget? Had he truly forgotten? If so, either I am "too strenuous," as he calls me, or he was too frivolous. If not, then I am not strenuous enough, and my husband was not—quite—no, no, no! Forever, no! Not to my