Explore "Diverging Roads" by Rose Wilder Lane on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Paul was aggrieved. He stood in the dismantled living-room of the little bungalow, struggling between forbearance and a sense of the justice of his grievance. "But look here! " he said for the hundredth time, "why couldn't you let a fellow know? If I'd had a chance to show you how unreasonable, how unnecessary -- " He thrust his hands deep into his coat-pockets and walked moodily up and down between the big trunk and the two bulging suitcases that stood on the bare floor.
Helen, drooping wearily on one of the suitcases, contritely searched her mind for a reply. It was bewildering not to find one. On all other points of the discussion her reasons were clear and to her convincing. But surely she should have informed him of her plans. He had never for a moment been forgotten; the knowledge of him continually glowed in her heart, warming her even when her thoughts were furthest from him.