I didn't even enjoy the thinness, but
took a kind of already-married look in my glass and tried to slip the
egg past my bored lips and get myself to chew it down. It was work; and
then I took up the judge's letter, which also was work and more of it.
He started in at the beginning of everything, that is at the beginning
of the tuberculosis girl and I cried over the pages of her as if she had
been my own sister. At the tenth page we buried her and took up Alfred
and I must say I saw a new Alfred in the judge's bouquet-strewn
appreciation of him, but I didn't want him as bad as I had the day
before when I read his own new and old letters, and cried over his old
photographs. I suppose that was the result of some of what the judge
manages the juries with. He'd be apt to use it on a woman and she
wouldn't find out about it until it was too late to be anything but mad.
Still when he began on me at page sixteen I felt a little better, though
I didn't know myself any better than I did Alfred when I got to page
twenty.
What I am, is just a poor foolish woman, who has a lot more heart than
she can manage with the amount of brains she got with it at birth.
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