Explore "To Leeward" by F. Marion Crawford on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
When Leonora was alone, she resolved to have a good fit of thinking. Accordingly, the next morning after Marcantonio's departure she sat by herself in a cool room, surrounded with books and dainty writing materials, -- thinking. The little white cat that her husband had procured, because she liked animals, climbed to the back of her chair and made passes at her head with its small, soft paws, seeming to delight in touching her. She put up her hand and pulled the little creature down to her lap.
"Pussy," said she, talking English to it, "were you ever in love? " She kissed it softly and held it up to her fair cheek. "I wonder what it is like," she said to herself. "I wonder whether being in love is always like this! People who love always say they would die for each other. I am not sure whether I would die for Marcantonio. He is very good. Yes -- of course -- one's husband! Any woman would die for her husband. And yet -- if the knife were very sharp and cold, -- or the poison very dreadful to take, -- I am not sure. Perhaps there might be some other way out of it, and one would not have to die after all."