I was glad to get back home, of course; but it did seem queer
and lonesome. The cats hardly knew me, and William Adolphus
roamed about forlornly and appeared to feel like an exile.
I didn't take as much pleasure in cooking as usual,
for it seemed kind of foolish to be fussing over oneself.
The sight of a bone made me think of poor Mr. Riley. The neighbours
avoided me pointedly, for they couldn't get rid of
the fear that I might erupt into smallpox at any moment.
My Sunday School class had been given to another woman,
and altogether I felt as if I didn't belong anywhere.
I had existed like this for a fortnight when Alexander Abraham
suddenly appeared. He walked in one evening at dusk, but at
first sight I didn't know him he was so spruced and barbered up.
But William Adolphus knew him. Will you believe it, William Adolphus,
my own William Adolphus, rubbed up against that man's trouser leg
with an undisguised purr of satisfaction.
"I had to come, Angelina," said Alexander Abraham. "I couldn't
stand it any longer."
"My name is Peter," I said coldly, although I was feeling ridiculously
glad about something.
"It isn't," said Alexander Abraham stubbornly. "It is Angelina for me,
and always will be.
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