She refused to eat. He could imagine it even if he could not feel it. I never see them, they never even call. Now it occurred to him that to show her the sealed letter would be a better way. And mind, your life,—more than your life—hangs upon your choice. And she defies me. She thought of leaving the Beck house less and less these days, though the suitcase remained packed underneath her creaky bed. She might even forgive him. Your life is like a funeral March. There was a recurrence of fever, but nothing alarming. He returned her impressive greeting almost mechanically.
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