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Newspaper Page Text
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CONFESSIONS OF A WIFE
MARGIE TALKS TO HER "LITTLE BOOK"
(Copyright, 1915, by the Newspaper Enterprise Association.)
I believe, little book, that I know
how a condemned man feels while he
is waiting through the long, inter-
- minable days for the great adventure.
Strange as it may seem, I believe
that the days the waiting days of
horror are as long to them as they
are to me,
Today I have "put my house in
order." Everything is ready for the
coming of my darling baby. His first
little clothes are lying with his toilet
articles in his little "basket A note
of instruction tb'the nurse and a note
to dear Aunt Mary, asking her to take
charge of m and the house for a
while, is laid under the clothes at the
bottom of the basket, "to be opened
and read in case I am too in to talk."
My own clothes are all arranged
in my .bureau drawers with ribbons
in nightdresses and everything ready.
I have gfone through all the old let
ters and keepsakes' in my desk and
labeled them; some to be burned and
some to be kept if my boy should live
and I pass into the unknown.
And last of all, dearest little com
panion of my life, I have been going
hack over the path of my life with
I wonder if most wives date their
existence from their marriage. I read
extracts of those many volumes be
fore my wedding day as if they were
the pages from the life "of another
girl; one whom I had known intimate
ly for some years, but one who died .
on my marriage morn.
- Some way, little book, I felt rather
Bony for that little girL She had
such high hopes, such great aspira
tions; she believed so thoroughly in
the possibilities of love and life.
That ecstatic outburst on "the
night before my marriage" was her
farewell to the life she had known,
to the love which was in her mind
and heart, a" combination of ectasy
"I want to belong," was the ecstatic
cry of that girl whose only hope of
happiness was to be merged into one
with the man she loved.
Oh, little book, fittle book, why Is
it given to us poor -finite mortals to
imagine what we can never hope to
attain, to conceive what we are un
able to accomplish.
No mortal can become one with
another and no human being can
"belong" to another as does one's
hands or feet or any other of the
members of one's body, to be tm
questioningly directed by one brain.
Neither the mind nor the soul can
belong to anybody but the body the
mind and soul inhabit I know, little
book, conceived a thing impossible
of realization but it was something
so fascinatingly beautiful that it has
made all the lesser joys of my mar
ried life seem tame.
"Now, in its place, because now that
I am not guided by delirious and un-
reasonable love, I have raised an
Is that, too, Incapable of being re
alized? Can any wife become one-half of
Am I fighting to bring Dick always
to my way of thinking, and is he al
ways calmly insisting that his is the
Do the bonds that bind us, which
only' four years ago we welded to
gether with what we thought was
something so strong that only death
could break them, sometimes chafe
him as much as they do me?
Again, little book, we come back to
the stone wall. We can hear the dis
tant melody of life's sweet song, but
we cannot sing it, for our voices are
untrained and we lack the poise and
even inclination to sustain the note.
I am so glad, little book, that I can
say these things to you without being
called fanciful or Billy. I have been