Whatever of love I might have felt died within me under abuse.
He struck me the second day, and from that moment I dreaded his
home-coming. For weeks I scarcely saw him sober, and his treatment of
me was brutal."
Tears were in her eyes, but she held them back, forcing herself to go
on.
"Then he was gone two days and nights leaving me alone. He reappeared
the third evening in the worst condition I had ever seen him. He acted
like a veritable savage, cursing and striking at me, and finally drove
me from the house, flourishing a revolver in my face, and locking the
door behind me. I--I sat there on the steps an hour, and endeavored to
go back, but there was no response. I walked the streets, and
then--having a little money with me--found a place to lodge. The next
day I went back, but the flat was locked still, and neighbors said my
husband had left with a traveling bag. I--I was actually thrown out
upon the streets to starve."
Her voice lowered, so that I was compelled to lean closer to catch the
rapidly spoken words.
"At first I--I was not altogether sorry. I thought it would be easy to
find work. I was not afraid of that--but--but it was not easy. Oh!
how hard I tried. I faced open insult; cowardly insinuation; brutal
coarseness.
Pages:
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67