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Show KATHLEEN NORMS Remorse Is Expensive Luxury passion; one last chance to relish the whole thing over again. One More Thrill You were weak, and you chose a very ugly way to indulge that hunger that marks the end of youth. The hunger for just one more grand sex thrill, that comes to a woman somewhere in the thirties; a delight in finding herself her-self desirable still, still capable of love secrets, stolen kisses, Intoxicating Intoxi-cating flatteries. Flatteries. That of course is the base of all these pitiful love affairs; flattery is what stirs the blood, flattery flat-tery fills the eloquent little notes, flattery breathes through every whisper and every kiss. And how the neighbor's wife loves it, after the quiet duty and routine of her housekeeping days! To my disturbed correspondent I say: there are many other infidelities in-fidelities in marriage beside the actual physical betrayal. Put this mistake behind you once and for all. Never dream of disturbing the four contented lives so close to your own with the exhibitionism of a confession. It would be pleasant to you to let them know that you won her husband, but not fair. It wouldn't last. The wreck age of your neighbor's life, that oi her husband and son, your husband's hus-band's life, your young daughters' faith and love would be too wholesale whole-sale a slaughter. There'd be no way out for anyone and the young persons per-sons would be scarred for life. So your only course is the heroic one of living from now on entirely for others. Devote yourself to your husband, the girls, the home, the table, the sick neighbor, the neglected neg-lected children down the block, the nearest hospital wards. "T AM A SINNER. I have done the thing that is unforgivable in a wife. No words can paint the shame and, self-contempt I feel, or what I am suffering with remorse. If tearing myself to pieces would wipe out the events of the past two years, I would gladly tear myself my-self to pieces." This is a quotation from a letter that lies here on my desk. The writer signs only "Heartbroken Sinner." Therefore she must expect this open answer, and I am glad to make it, because her situation is not an entirely unusual one, and other women still safe within the bounds of honor and self-respect may profit by it in time. "Our affair was all the more intoxicating," in-toxicating," the letter goes on, "because "be-cause our families were old friends, my husband and his wife sharing a daily coming and going with us, without ever suspecting that we had many secret meetings. On two occasions we were away from home for a few nights without causing comment; Fred claiming business, I supposedly with my aunt. "Then came his long illness, due to bloodpoisoning, when I shared with his wife some of the sickroom care. At this time my eyes opened suddenly to the truth that he is an ordinary man with no unusual gifts, and also to the horror of my own position. Since his convalescence we have made no allusion to our affair, and have avoided ever being be-ing alone. Knows No Peace "That was almost a year ago. Since that time I may truly say I have never had one moment's peace of mind or soul. The shame and self-contempt that I feel awaken me at night, and are with me all day. Fred' has one child, a boy of 20. I have three beautiful daughters. . . more closely united . . The thought that I may have someday some-day to reveal to them what will change their whole attitude toward life drives me nearly mad. "Strangely enough, as our girls grow up, my husband and I grow more closely united. My feeling for him is now one of admiration, companionship, com-panionship, interest. We plan together; to-gether; together we make the little lit-tle trips we always hoped to take. That I ever compared him disparagingly dis-paragingly to another man, and betrayed be-trayed his honor, is an unbearable thought. The urge to fling myself upon my husband's charity is so strong that t find myself walking the floor in a nervous misery, trying try-ing to control it. But that would mean that we lose our oldest friends, that my girls suffer a part of my shame, and possibly the misery of a divorce. "I have spent hours on my knees. I beg you to take this to God before be-fore you assume the responsibility of answering me. At 37, have I destroyed de-stroyed all chance of happiness in my life?" No, of course you haven't, is my answer. And this urge to confess is just one last little flick of the |