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Newspaper Page Text
CONFESSIONS OF A WIFE
BACK AGAIN WITH YOU, LITTLE BOOK
It has been three months since I
last talked to you, little book, and,
oh, so many, many things have hap
pened to your old friend-Margie Wa
verly. I must have fainted when I fell
down the steps as I came from the
hospital. The last I remembered was
the realization that I had broken my
leg and then oblivion.
When I awoke my leg was ban
daged, but I learned it was not to be
set until the next day. I was evi
dently under some sort of an opiate
as nothing seemed to matter much.
The pretty white-clad nurse was
fussing about me and I remembered
answering "yes" drowsily to her
query if I were comfortable.
I expect, little book, that you being
inanimate do not have that delicious
sensation which surcease from pain
and sorrow sometimes gives, I, alas,
was brought back to the world of
agony the next morning when they
went to take an X-ray picture of the
It is a strange thing that no one
can realize physical pain but the per
son who is suffering it
Even if you have suffered the se
vere pain before, you cannot realize
it when some one else is writhing in
the same agonies later.
Which makes me think of the sen
tentious remark of a man friend of
We have had many discussions on
the subject of the physical war
against the spiritual.
H6 has always insisted that no
matter how much we try to deceive
ourselves "the physical is king."
"At the last it will batter down
all the mental and spiritual forces
brought to bear against it," he said.
"Life to a materialist like I am re
solves itself into 'we are born we live
and we die.' "
I could not let that go unchalleng
ed, little book, because to me life
would be nothing if I could not fight
and overcome the primitive instincts
to be always merely physical.
"Well," he said, "you idealistic
lady, which would you rather have a
perfect love accompanied by a raging
toothache or a loveless life without
I, never having had the toothache,
said immediately that I could not live
without love. But today, with that
awful agony which showed me ex
actly just what the Christian mar
tyrs on the rack suffered, I know that
no love in all this world would by
any possibility compensate or even
alleviate bodily pain.
Before I became bedridden I went
to a play in which one of the char-
acters said: "Husbands don't want
their wives to respect them, they can
even get along without their wives'
loving them passionately if they are
only made comfortable."
I am revelling, little book, in being
able to once more put my inside
thoughts "up to you" and I tell you
I shall perhaps bore you to death
with them, for you see I have had
three months of nothing else to do
but bear pain as patiently as I can"
I have almost come to the conclu
sion ihat too much thinking is not
good for one. You remember what
David Harum said in that novel of
long ago: "A few fleas are good for
a dog. They keep him from thinking
of his other troubles."
The first thought that comes to
,me, however, is that if I apply that
law of compensation to myself that I
have always insisted was inevitable I
have been a pretty bad citizen.
Just consider, little book, what has
come to me since I married Dick. I
have had to part with my illusions,
my ideals, my love, my loved ones,
my health and now am chained down
to this bed for months to come.
And yet looking back over my
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