He flipped the television off. Larry fell off the truck the Wednesday night before she planned on leaving. She felt as if she had struck them unawares. She was sitting on the mean straw mattress that was placed on the iron bedstead in the makeshift cell, while Melusine stood with her back to the door, confronting her old nurse with the truth. But her husband, whose deportment to her was considerably changed since the fatal knot had been tied, paid no attention whatever to her grief. He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. “Oh! He’s wonderful! Isobella, you are truly blessed!” She said as she held the baby. That terrible laughter, just before his senses had left him! Why? Here was a word that volleyed at her from all directions, numbed and bewildered her: the multiple echoes of her own first utterance of the word. She felt a new warmth in her blood, a strange sense of elation crept over her.
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