Unfortunately your husband died. We are very sorry.
AH! I can not believe it
It was her sister Josephine who told her,in broken sentences;veiled hints that revealed in half concealing. Her husband's friend Richards was there,too,near her.
When the storm of grief had spend itself she went away to her room alone. She would have no one follow her.
She sat with her head thrown back upon the chair, quite motionless, except when a sob came up into her throat and shook her, as a child who has cried itself to sleep continues to sob in its dreams.
Oh my God, my love!
Free,free,free. The vacant stare and the look of terror that had followed it went from her eyes. They stayed keen and bright.
Some one was opening the front door with a latchkey. Brently Mallard who entered,a little travelstained, composedly carrying his grip-sack and umbrella. He stood amazed at Josephine piercing cry; at Richard quick motion to screen him from the view of his wife.
When the doctors came they said she had died of heart disease of the joy that kills.