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Newspaper Page Text
The door was forced open,,'and, crouched in a corner of the room, was
a wo -mi "-iinMiilv rlrpQsed moaning miserably.
She sobbed out a story of having lived in the room for three years and
o. uiu& .uj iii.icen ytiaiti been tne mistress of the man whose wife and
daughter had trusted, him implicitly.
She was arrested and is held on the technical charge of having taken
$3 from the lawyer's pocket, merely that she may be kept from the sight
of the family until the body is laid away.
The funeral is being held today, in the little cemetery at Monticello.
The services were private.
Miss Brance is of medium heighth and. of handsome figure. Her
hair is slightly streaked with gray, but her face is stijl youthful. Her voice
is low and musical, and she talks with every evidence of culture.
"I knew Mr. Couch was married when I met him," she said. "I am
sorry ror Mrs. uoucn, out l lovea mm,
and that is all the excuse I can offer.
And I am paying.
"Today she has the rights of a law
ful widow. She may attend the fu
neral. She can have the last look at
his face. But to me, though I was his
wife before God, nothlhg remains but
"When I saw him dead in the chair,
and I knew that it was all over, that
the dream was dead and only the
ashes of it were left, I thought I
would die, too, but it takes so much
to make people die, doesn't it? If it
took less, I should die from the scorn
and the hatred that is lavished'on me
"I was a student at the Oswego
Normal school when my health began
to fail and physicians advised me to
obtain outdoor employment. I be
gan selling a publication gotten out
by the Progressive Publishing Com
pany of New York.
"I was just twenty-three then.
That is young for a girl to be wise,
don't you think. I wasn't wise. I
met Mr. Couch on a trip to Monti
cello. "Oh, it didn't begin right then. Like
every other woman I tried to love
without losing my self-respect. But
loving is just a giving, a giving of all
that one has. Love is just sacrificing,
and a woman sacrifices all when she
"It was three yeara ago that I
close always, and then well I could
live there withoutit costing much to
"I don't look as though it were a
liason for money, do I?" she asked.
"I look like a Beggar almost."
Her voice choked with tears and
she covered her face.
"I have a fialf-brdther named
Charles," she said, in a whisper. "I
am not going to tell.hia last name.
My parents are dead, and I am glad "
they are. They won't .know what I
came to, when they used to be so
proud of me.
"I guess they are burying him
now," she faltered. "Well, he is more
lucky than I am. He doesn't know
what the world is saying. He was
never found out while he lived,
though he used to be so terribly
afraid that someone would discover
"But I am glad they never did
until he died. And I wish they never
had until I died. The scorn they are
hurling at me, and yet I only sinned
In loving him."
Mrs. Couch and her 22-year-old
daughter have remained in seclusion
Workhouse Master Come along
you've got to have a bath! Tramp
A bath? What, wiY water? Work
house Master Yes,- of course!
started to Eve in this little .room back Tramp Couldn't you manage it wiv
of his offi.ce. He wanted me to be I one of them vacuum cleaners?
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