"His state of mind really freezes my blood," Mrs. Penniman
had written, alluding to her brother; and it would have seemed that
upon this statement she could hardly improve. Nevertheless, she
wrote again, expressing herself with the aid of a different figure.
"His hatred of you burns with a lurid flame--the flame that never
dies," she wrote. "But it doesn't light up the darkness of your
future. If my affection could do so, all the years of your life
would be an eternal sunshine. I can extract nothing from C.; she is
so terribly secretive, like her father. She seems to expect to be
married very soon, and has evidently made preparations in Europe--
quantities of clothing, ten pairs of shoes, etc. My dear friend, you
cannot set up in married life simply with a few pairs of shoes, can
you? Tell me what you think of this. I am intensely anxious to see
you; I have so much to say. I miss you dreadfully; the house seems
so empty without you. What is the news down town? Is the business
extending? That dear little business--I think it's so brave of you!
Couldn't I come to your office?--just for three minutes? I might
pass for a customer--is that what you call them? I might come in to
buy something--some shares or some railroad things. TELL ME WHAT YOU
THINK OF THIS PLAN. I would carry a little reticule, like a woman of
the people."
In spite of the suggestion about the reticule, Morris appeared to
think poorly of the plan, for he gave Mrs.
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