That is all, or almost all. I have to add that, having fallen into
most scrapes with her, I ended by proposing one in which she gently
but decisively declined to share the risk. . . . I am inclined to
think that, having been so frank with her, and so frequent, in
confidences about others to whom my heart was lost, she may have
missed the bloom on the recital. . . . But there it was; and that's
that, as they say.
I accused her at the time of a priggish, unnatural craving for things
of the intellect. All my excuse was that at a certain time of her
life she took a sudden turn for reading and setting queer new values
on things. But she was always a sportswoman, a woman of the open
air, and--here's the point--always knowledgeable with animals and
always beloved by them, but always (as it seemed to me) inclined to
be severe and disciplinary. To a lean pack she was Diana; they
fawned behind her for no pay but hope of her word to let slip.
But she would beat them off the piled platter, and from a fed lap-dog
she could scarcely restrain her hands. If you think this hasn't to
do with the story, I can only assure you that it has.
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