Explore "We Three" by Gouverneur Morris on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I had passed through one of those stages of mental and spiritual depression during which a man does not even ask forgiveness of himself for any of his acts. If "Miss" Coles had wished me to marry her I would have done so; but the suggestion was never made by either of us. We parted, a little gloomily, but not unhappily, and before there was even a breath of scandal. It was just after she heard that her husband had secured his decree against her. That hard cold fact, that proof of things which no woman likes to have proved against her, seemed to sober her, you may say, and bring her up with a round turn. From now on she was going to be good, she said. No. I mustn't blame myself for anything. Everything was her fault. Everything always had been. I was ashamed too? She was glad of that. We'd always be good friends. Why, yes! From a friend, yes -- if he was really as rich as all that. It would help her to look around, to get her bearings for the new and better life.
It had been a frightfully expensive winter. It had been sweet of me to keep her rooms so full of flowers. She loved flowers. Oh, nobody was hurt much, and nobody but us anyway.