And then she began to talk--at first haltingly, with half-finished sentences; then hurriedly, with a rush of words that seemed not able to utter themselves fast enough to keep up with the thoughts behind them.
She told of her youth and marriage, and of my coming.

She told of her life with Father, and of the mistakes she made.

She told much, of course, that was in Mary Marie's diary; but she told, too, oh, so much more, until like a panorama the whole thing lay before me.
Then she spoke of me, and of my childhood, and her voice began to quiver.

She told of the Mary and the Marie, and of the dual nature within me.

(As if I didn't know about that!) But she told me much that I did not know, and she made things much clearer to me, until I saw-- You can see things so much more clearly when you stand off at a distance like this, you know, than you can when you are close to them! She broke down and cried when she spoke of the divorce, and of the influence it had upon me, and of the false idea of marriage it gave me.