When Vanno
comes, as you say, he can decide for himself."
"You will write to him?" Angelo inquired.
"I will write to him. And you need have no further trouble with anything
that concerns me."
Without another word, or a look at him, she turned away and walked into
the house.
Almost mechanically she went upstairs to the pretty room that had been
hers. She was too intensely excited to think. She could only feel. And
throughout her whole life she had felt about her thoughts, rather than
thought about her feelings. Less than ever did she try to analyze them
now. She hastily gathered her things together, and piled them without
folding into trunks and dressing-bag. She had not made up her mind where
to go or what to do. The first thing and the most important thing was to
get away from this house. Once away, breathing freer air, it would be
time enough to plan.
As she packed furiously and unskilfully, she feared that Marie might
come in and beg her forgiveness or try to explain. She felt that she
could not bear this. And she shrank from the idea of seeing Marie again.
She was afraid that she might be tempted to say something terrible. The
one clear thought in her brain was the thought of Vanno; and he was in
her mind as an image rather than a thought. She said over and over to
herself almost stupidly as she prepared to leave Angelo's house: "If
only Vanno were here--if only Vanno were here!"
Before she was ready to go she suddenly remembered that she must have a
cab.
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