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Fisher, Dorothy Canfield, 1879-1958

"The Brimming Cup"

When she
finished, she leaned against Neale's shoulder with a long breath. For an
instant, she had no emotion but relieved, homely, bodily comfort.
"Well, for Heaven's sake!" said Neale, looking down at her.
"I know it," she said. "I'm an awful fool."
"No, you're not," he contradicted. "That's what makes me so provoked
with you now, going without eating since morning."
Agnes put in, "It's the suddenness of it that was such a shock. It takes
me just so, too, comes over me as I start to put a mouthful of food into
my mouth. I can't get it down. And you don't know how _lost_ I feel not
to have Miss Hetty here to tell me what to eat. I feel so gone!"
"You must go to bed this minute," said Neale. "I'll go right back to the
children."
He remembered suddenly. "By George, I haven't had anything to eat since
noon, myself." He gave Marise an apologetic glance. "I guess I haven't
any stones to throw at your foolishness."
Agnes ran to get him another cup of cocoa and some more bread and
butter. Marise leaned back on the sofa and watched him eat.
* * * * *
She was aware of a physical release from tension that was like a new
birth. She looked at her husband as she had not looked at him for years.
And yet she knew every line and hollow of that rugged face.


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