He could
not keep it from her long now, but she was so happy that day in her
triumph about the picture. He was going to darken all of her days to
come; he would leave her this one more unclouded. But it was hard for him
to go through with it. He longed for her so! He must have her help. He
had asked for the pictures before telling her just because he knew it
would be unbearable for them both, if she did know. It would need to be
done in that casual way or not at all. It was strange how he felt he must
see them. It was his longing to keep close to her. He could not bear the
thought that his blindness might make him to her as something apart from
life, even though the dearest thing of all. He must enter into every
channel of her life.
It was Wednesday now, and he had told her. All the night before he had
lain awake trying to think of words which would hurt her the least. He
would put it very tenderly to his poor Ernestine. He would even pretend
he saw some way ahead, something to do. Ernestine could not bear it
unless he did that.
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