She said it over and over under hte breath: "free, free, free!"
Josephine gave the sad news to her sister Mallard that her husband Richards has passed away.
"Louise, open the door! I beg; open the door--you will make yourself ill. What are you doing, Louise? For heaven's sake open the door."
She wept at once, with sudden, wild abandonment, in her sister's arms. When the storm of grief had spent itself she went away to her room alone. She would have no one follow her.
Easy, everything will be fine.
There stood, facing the open window, a comfortable, roomy armchair. Into this she sank, pressed down by a physical exhaustion that haunted her body and seemed to reach into her soul.
Can not be...
Josephine was kneeling before the closed door with her lips to the keyhold, imploring for admission.
She arose at length and opened the door to her sister's importunities. There was a feverish triumph in her eyes, and she carried herself unwittingly like a goddess of Victory. She clasped her sister's waist, and together they descended the stairs. Richards stood waiting for them at the bottom.
Richards arrived at the house and they realized that he had not died. She had died of heart disease--of the joy that kills.