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of happiness out of our lives。 But I was a man divided—she wanted me to work too much for her and not enough for my dream。 She realized too late that work was dignity； and the only dignity； and tried to atone for it by working herself； but it was too late and she broke and is broken forever。
It was too late also for me to recoup the damage—I had spent most of my resources； spirit and material； on her； but I struggled on for five years till my health collapsed； and all I cared about was drink and forgetting。
The mistake I made was marrying her。 We belonged to different worlds—she might have been happy with a kind simple man in a southern garden。 She didn't have the strength for the big stage—sometimes she pretended； and pretended beautifully； but she didn't have it。 She was soft when she should have been hard； and hard when she should have been yielding。 She never knew how to use her energy—she's passed that failing on to you。
For a long time I hated her mother for giving her nothing in the line of good habit—nothing but “getting by” and conceit。 I never wanted to see again in this world women who were brought up as idlers。 And one of my chief desires in life was to keep you from being that kind of person； one who brings ruin to themselves and others。 When you began to show disturbing signs at about fourteen； I forted myself with the idea that you were too precocious socially and a strict school would fix things。 But sometimes I think that idlers seem
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