The man was my husband. “Yes, mostly. She thought of how much she wanted to eat the foods she had once feasted on that now smelled as innocuous as spring flowers. It is the worst of talk under such social circumstances that it is always getting cut off so soon as it is beginning; and I went home that afternoon feeling I had said nothing—literally nothing—of the things I had meant to say to you and that were coursing through my head. Her foster father had been outside for most of the morning, working on trimming the maple trees and mowing the lawn. Stanley took the letter and stood with it in his hand thoughtfully for a time.
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