Page:Frank Owen - Woman Without Love (1949 reprint).djvu/49

 went to bed did not bring her sleep. She longed for the beloved sounds of the city. It was an age since she had heard laughter.

Day after day she sat at the dinner table and studied him moodily. He ate ravenously, huge slices of bread without butter. It did not matter what he ate as long as he filled himself with food. He was like a great beast with his sense of taste deadened. Anything that could be chewed satisfied him. As a rule he came to the table without washing, covered with the earth of the fields. He seldom shaved and his beard cropped out in uneven, straggly patches. She shuddered as she gazed upon him. Had she been an utter fool to become a drudge for such a man?

No longer did he bother telling her she was beautiful, nor did he make any attempt to keep her from pain.

He grew niggardly with his money. He scarcely ever gave her a penny. When she wished to go into Fort Wayne shopping he usually vetoed the suggestion. Her clothes were good enough. He was not in favor of buying fancy things for the table. They didn't need new curtains. He was even saving in regard to lamps. He was willing to keep only one, a dim one burning at night. Too much illumination, he claimed, was bad for the eyes. A low light also saved kerosene.

In time Mary grew to detest him. Yet he fascinated her. He was so utterly brutal, so utterly savage.

She vowed time and time again that she would leave him and yet when winter came she was still with him.

That was a particularly cold winter. The wind tore down over the plains in icy blasts. It beat against the strong walls of the house as though intent on tearing it down. It rattled the doors and crashed icy fists against the window panes. On the hearth huge logs burned merrily. At last Mary was able to sit in a great chair before the open fire and gaze wistfully into the flames. It was easy to dream when one concentrated on the glowing embers. Castles could be built easily of chimney-smoke. What matter if they quickly vanished? Nothing in life was lasting. Nothing was real. All was illusion. And men continued to exist simply because they were charmed by shadows.

Mary smiled thoughtfully as she gazed into the flames. For this she had come to Fort Wayne, to sit before the open fire. At