Well, good heavens – those bits of fancywork of yours – well, really! You’re a child, Nora.
He hadn’t to know how dangerously ill he was. It was me they told that his life was in danger and that only going to a warm climate could save him. Do you suppose I didn’t try to think of other ways of getting him down there? I told him how wonderful it would be for me to go abroad like other young wives; I cried and prayed; I asked him to remember my condition, and said he ought to be nice and tender to me; and then I suggested he might quite easily borrow the money. But then he got almost angry with me, Christine.
However wretched I sometimes feel, I still want to go on being tortured for as long as possible. It’s the same with all my patients; and with people who are morally sick, too.