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CONFESSIONS OF A WIFE
I WANT TO BE PETTED AND KISSED
Yesterday I went rambling off in
the recesses of my brainf or the mere
pleasure of bringing up new thoughts
to tell you, little book.
It has been so long since I could
think of anything but concrete pain
that it was like going into another de
lightful country to once more ask
myself "why" and then try to answer.
I am going to tell you, little book,
of all my experiences since I have
been lying here, for some of them
have been very illuminating. I have
changed my mind many times in the
last three months.
And I have come to the conclusion
that as long as a woman has power
to change her mind she is still young.
It is only the old and settled, little
book, that pride themselves on never
changing after once making up their
You are-prqbably wondering what
all this means, little book, why I am
trying to excuse myself for deviating
from perhaps some one of my most
cherished beliefs. I guess that is true
and the belief that is growing weaker
is that poor old Dick is wholly un
worthy. He has been wonderful to
me since I have been lying here.
Everything that can possibly be done
for my comfort has been done.
Every day he has called me up on
the special telephone he has had
placed at my bedside. The first thing
in the morning, and every day he has
visited me at least once, although I
know he has been extremely busy
since Mr. Selwm died.
At first he was very very different
about approaching me, but someway
I early found no one, not even the ex
perienced nurses or internes, could
move me with as little pain as he.
You see, little book, he was mak
ing me comfortable and I was finding
out that the wild ecstacy of love was
not absolutely necessary to a good
working basis on which to rear comfort.
Dick had been very careful not to
caress me if one did not call his ten
der way of making me more comfort
able caresses. And now I must con
fess to you, dear little confident who
never divulges my secrets, that I
wanted him to kiss me wanted him
to pet me.
My pain was so agonizingly ma
terial that I wanted material compen
sation and here is the awful part of
it: I have not been able yet to de
cide whether it was Dick's kisses I
wanted or just kisses.
Someway I felt like a child who
wants to be kissed and made well
and yet Dick gave me no intimation
that he wanted to kiss me.
How could he, little book! I was
not his wife was not a woman only
a helpless clod that self-respgct made
him pity and care for.
One day during a more awful pa
roxysm of pain than usual, while he
was trying to lift me into a more
comfortable position for about the
fiftieth time, I gasped out: "Poor old
Dick, I am so sorry for you."
"Don't, Margie," he said thickly.
"Don't pity me, I can't bear it."
I looked at him in wonder and then
held put my 'arms.
Tenderly he held me and lingering
ly kissed my mouth and eyes kissed
me as one would a poor little sick
It was very sweet, but I burst into
"Why, what is it, dear?" he asked.
"Nothing," I answered, "only I am
so tired of it all that I guess I won't
try to live any longer."
Dick looked horrified. .
"You must not feel like that Soon
you will be able to walk again and
everything will be all right"
"Dick, do you really think I'll ever
"Why, of course, Margie. What
makes you so morbid about it?"
"I don't know" and again I jus
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