She made a little gesture, as if she dumbly answered some futile
question, and her hands dropped idly into her lap.
"I feel guilty," she continued after a little, "not because I failed
to play up to the role of the faithful wife. I couldn't help that. But
I shouldn't have kept that money, I suppose. Still, you were dead.
Money meant nothing to you. It was in my hands and I needed it, or
thought I did. You must have had a hard time, Robin, coming back to
civil life a beggar."
"Yes, but not for lack of money," Hollister replied. "I didn't need
much and I had enough. It was being scarred so that everybody shunned
me. It was the horror of being alone, of finding men and women always
uneasy in my presence, always glad to get away from me. They acted as
if I were a monstrosity that offended them beyond endurance. I
couldn't blame them much. Sometimes it gave me the shivers to look at
myself in the glass. I am a horrible sight. People who must be around
me seem to get used to me, whether they like it or not. But at first I
nearly went mad.
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