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Updated: June 28, 2025
They might kiss her good-night at her door, they might deliberately try to get the girls to miss the last train home from the picnic, but their spirit was of idle mischief rather than malice, and a stinging slap from Emeline's hand afforded them, as it did her, a certain shamed satisfaction.
She and George had a good dinner, and later went to the Orpheum, and were happier than they had been for a long time. The next Sunday they went to Oakland to see Emeline's sister, and possibly to begin househunting. It was a cold, dark day, with a raw wind blowing. Oakland looked bleak and dreary, the wind was blowing chaff and papers against fences and steps.
Emeline's Letters, p. 313. "A regular Abbot of a Monastery in Italy, talking with me said 'Melius est habere nullam quam aliquem It is better to have none than any woman. I asked him what he meant; he replied, 'Because, when a person is not tied to one, he may make use of many; and his practice was conformable to his doctrine; for he slept in the same bed with three young women every night.
Her flesh was firm and warm, while Emeline's was cold and quivering. "You have never loved anybody, have you?" "No." "But you have thought you did?" "I was engaged before I came here." "And the engagement is broken?" "We quarrelled." Mary French breathed deeply. "You will forget it here. He can draw the very soul out of your body." "He cannot!" flashed Emeline. "Some one will kill him yet.
She had naturally nothing to teach her daughter. Emeline's father occasionally thundered a furious warning to his daughters as to certain primitive moral laws. He did not tell Emeline and her sisters why they might some day consent to abandon the path of virtue, nor when, nor how.
Emeline's lack of charm was the most valuable moral asset she had. Had she attracted men she would not long have remained virtuous, for she was violently opposed to any restriction upon her own desires, no matter how well established a restriction or how generally accepted it might be.
Bees gathering to their straw domes for the night made a purring hum at the other end of the garden. "I trust you are here to stay," said Emeline's visitor. "I am never going back to Detroit," she answered. He understood at once that she had met grief in Detroit, and that it might be other grief than the sort expressed by her black garment. "We will be kind to you here."
Emeline's expression did not change, but fury seethed within her. "Don't wait for me," she said levelly. "I'm not going." "Well, put the kid's hat on then," George suggested, settling his own with some care at the mantel mirror. "Get your hand-embroidered dress out of your drawer, Julia," said her mother, "and the hat Aunt Maybelle gave you!"
And Bennie D. was always heavin' out little side remarks about Emeline's bein' fitted for better things than she was gettin', and how, when his invention was 'perfected, HE'D see that she didn't slave herself to death, and so on and so on.
Emeline's mother and sisters came to her wedding, but the men of the family were working on this week-day afternoon. The bride looked excited and happy, colour burned scarlet in her cheeks, under her outrageous hat; she wore a brown travelling gown, and the lemon-coloured gloves that were popular in that day. Emeline felt that she was leaving everything unpleasant in life behind her.
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