She knew it was her safeguard to avoid his
physical violence. But even physically she was not afraid of him. She
wanted to prove it to him. When she had proved it, that, whatever he
was, she was not afraid of him; when she had proved THAT, she could
leave him forever. But meanwhile the fight between them, terrible as
she knew it to be, was inconclusive. And she wanted to be confident in
herself. However many terrors she might have, she would be unafraid,
uncowed by him. He could never cow her, nor dominate her, nor have any
right over her; this she would maintain until she had proved it. Once
it was proved, she was free of him forever.
But she had not proved it yet, neither to him nor to herself. And this
was what still bound her to him. She was bound to him, she could not
live beyond him. She sat up in bed, closely wrapped up, for many hours,
thinking endlessly to herself. It was as if she would never have done
weaving the great provision of her thoughts.
'It isn't as if he really loved me,' she said to herself.
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