And I can't give you up! I can't give you up!" Then I tried to tell her, of course, that she wouldn't have to give me up, and that I loved her a whole lot better than I did Father.

But even that didn't comfort her, 'cause she said I _ought_ to love _him_.
That he was lonesome and needed me.

He needed me just as much as she needed me, and maybe more.

And then she went on again about how unnatural and awful it was to live the way we were living.

And she called herself a wicked woman that she'd ever allowed things to get to such a pass.