His pride is shown in the fact
that although her expansive nature displeased him, he would never
stoop to remonstrate with her. His cruelty is shown in the fact that
he coldly repressed her little enthusiasms, and finally murdered her.
I suppose she was really a frank, charming girl, who came from a
happy home, a bright and eager bride; she was one of those lovely
women whose kindness and responsiveness are as natural as the
sunlight. She loved to watch the sunset from the terrace; she loved
to pet the white mule; she was delighted when some one brought her a
gift of cherries. Then she was puzzled, bewildered, when she found
that all her expressions of delight in life received a cold,
disapproving glance of scorn from her husband; her lively talk at
dinner, her return from a ride, flushed and eager, met invariably
this icy stare of hatred. She smiled too much to please him.
Then all smiles stopped together.
What difference does it make whether he deliberately poisoned her,
or whether he simply broke her heart by the daily chill of silent
contempt? For her, at all events, death must have been a release.
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