He had simply been himself.
These were her thoughts; this is how she remembered him. ...
The house was unbearably lonely. As evening approached she found
herself more than once listening for Bonbright's step on the stairs
and his hand on the door. ... At such times she cried. She puzzled
herself. She did not understand why she should be so lonely, nor why
the expectation of Bonbright's step--with quick awakening to the
knowledge that no foot of his would ever sound at her door again--
should bring her tears. ... She knew she should have been glad,
relieved. With Bonbright she had lived in daily dread. She had not
loved him, and the fear that his restraint would break, that he would
force his love upon her, had made her days a ghastly dream. ... She
should be crying out with the joy and relief of his removal. But she
felt no relief, felt no joy. ... She could not understand it.
If Hilda Lightener, who came often and stayed long, had asked her if
she missed Bonbright or were lonely without him, she would have
denied it hotly.
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