As in the past, he bores me with his interminable descriptions and his
whole middle-class outlook. Yet for many years he dominated my senses,
which gives him a certain hold over me still. I cannot make up my mind
to take the brutal step which would free me once and for all from him. I
must let him go on believing that our life together was happy.

Why did I read all these letters? What did I expect to find? A certain
vague hope stirred within me that if I opened them I should discover
something unexpected.

The one remaining letter--shall I ever find courage to open it? I _will_
not know what he has written. He does not write well I know. He is not a
good talker; his writing would probably be worse. And yet, I look upon
that sealed letter as a treasure.

Merely touching it, I feel as though I was in the same room with him.

* * * * *

Lillie's letter has really done me good; her regal serenity makes itself
apparent beneath all she undertakes. It is wonderful that she does not
preach at me like the others. "You must know what is right for yourself
better than anybody else," she says. These words, coming from her, have
brought me unspeakable strength and comfort, even though I feel that she
can have no idea of what is actually taking place within me.

Life for Lillie can be summed up in the words, "the serene passage of
the days." Happy Lillie. She glides into old age just as she glided into
marriage, smiling, tranquil, and contented. Nobody, nothing, can disturb
her quietude.