Her room door was locked because she was nervous about thieves;
but an electric contrivance on a cord was understood to be
attached to her little wrist. She had only to press a bulb to raise
the house. And I was provided with an axe--an axe!--great gods,
with which to break down her door in case she ever failed to
answer my knock, after I knocked really loud several times. It was
pretty well thought out, you see.
What wasn't so well thought out were the ultimate
consequences--our being tied to Europe. For that young man
rubbed it so well into me that Florence would die if she crossed
the Channel--he impressed it so fully on my mind that, when later
Florence wanted to go to Fordingbridge, I cut the proposal
short--absolutely short, with a curt no. It fixed her and it frightened
her. I was even backed up by all the doctors. I seemed to have had
endless interviews with doctor after doctor, cool, quiet men, who
would ask, in reasonable tones, whether there was any reason for
our going to England--any special reason. And since I could not
see any special reason, they would give the verdict: "Better not,
then." I daresay they were honest enough, as things go.
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