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Updated: May 13, 2025
For Corydon was one person, in body, mind and soul; in her there were no disharmonies, no warring elements. His friend the doctor had set forth his idea of "a good woman"; but Corydon's goodness proved to be after no such pattern. Now that she was his, she was his; she belonged to him, she was a part of him, and there could be no thought of a secret shame, of any reserves or hesitations.
"The run to Genoa from the Tyne," he said, "takes a fortnight. It was during that voyage that I began to see how I stood with regard to Gladys. I suppose you read Ibsen? I used to, on the Corydon, and one of the most remarkable of his plays, in my opinion, is Love's Comedy. You remember the moral of that play was that a man should never marry a girl he is madly in love with.
In the centre of the room was a large glass table, long enough for a reclining body, and through the sky-light the sun poured a pleasing radiance over all. "How beautiful!" exclaimed Corydon; and the nurses exchanged glances, and the old doctor failed to hide an expression of surprise. "I wish all my patients felt like that," said he. "Now climb up on the table."
He sang the praises of Darrell, and of the new friends he had made at Darrell's; also he brought an invitation for Corydon to come with him to an evening reception the next week. They were anxious to meet her, he said; and Corydon was anxious to go. But, alas, this did not work out according to expectations.
Corydon promptly did so, and another doctor who was to administer the anaesthetic came to her side. "Take a very deep breath, please," he said, as he placed over her mouth a white, cone-shaped thing that had a rather suffocating odor. Corydon was obedience itself, and breathed. In a moment her body seemed to be falling from her. "Oh, I don't like it!" she gasped.
To which Corydon answered, "I don't want them to know about me at all. I want to get away, and stay by myself, and get back my self-respect." And so it was decided that in a couple of weeks more the first of April they would shake the dust of the city from their feet. They sent for their tent and other goods, and began inquiring about a place to camp. Section 11.
"Our interview shall end at once if you call me by that title. Sir," with a gaiety which struck me as unnatural, "you are witnessing the passing of Phyllis. It will not be long before she shall pass away and never more return, and the name shall fade till it becomes naught but a dear memory. Phyllis has left the green pastures for the city, and Corydon followeth not."
He would play the game of "love" as Corydon wanted it played; he would yield to her demands, he would gratify her cravings, he would force himself to take her point of view. But then the other mood would come upon him the mood that he knew to be the real expression of himself.
And it was the same with facts of all sorts; science existed for Corydon only as it pointed to beauty, and history existed only as it was inspiring.
He had been getting about twenty dollars a month; which was not enough for the family to exist upon. "Our only hope is a new book," he declared; and Corydon saw that was the truth. "Each week that I stay here is a loss," he added. "I have to pay room-rent." "But can you stand tenting out in April?" asked she. "I'll chance it," he replied "if you'll say the word."
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