. . .
But Florence. . . .
She should not have done it. She should not have done it. It was
playing it too low down. She cut out poor dear Edward from sheer
vanity; she meddled between him and Leonora from a sheer,
imbecile spirit of district visiting. Do you understand that, whilst
she was Edward's mistress, she was perpetually trying to reunite
him to his wife? She would gabble on to Leonora about
forgiveness--treating the subject from the bright, American point
of view. And Leonora would treat her like the whore she was.
Once she said to Florence in the early morning:
"You come to me straight out of his bed to tell me that that is my
proper place. I know it, thank you."
But even that could not stop Florence. She went on saying that it
was her ambition to leave this world a little brighter by the
passage of her brief life, and how thankfully she would leave
Edward, whom she thought she had brought to a right frame of
mind, if Leonora would only give him a chance. He needed, she
said, tenderness beyond anything.
And Leonora would answer--for she put up with this outrage for
years--Leonora, as I understand, would answer something like:
"Yes, you would give him up.
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