Once, when Ellen had sat all day, refusing either to speak or eat, Rosemary had flung herself on her knees by her sister’s side.
“Oh, Ellen, you have me yet,” she said imploringly. “Am I nothing to you? We have always loved each other so.”
“I won’t have you always,” Ellen had said, breaking her silence with harsh intensity. “You will marry and leave me. I shall be left all alone. I cannot bear the thought—I CANNOT. I would rather die.”
“I will never marry,” said Rosemary, “never, Ellen.”