Poor Mrs. Mallard! Again I feel regret that this sick woman cannot be set free from a life of heartache. I have to wonder if this was an arranged marriage, as was custom long ago.
I enjoyed the setting of her being in the chair in the upstairs room, her tears drying on her cheeks, and the scent of rain pleasant to her senses.
Richard, the husband's friend, had hurried to deliver the news of his friends death in order to be the first to tell her. Had wanted to tell her the way he chose, with tenderness, causing the reader to wonder if it was due to his nature to be so thoughtful or if it had something to do with Mrs. Mallard herself. As if he fancied her...
But what a twist of irony at the end! Having him return just as she's ready to face her new life. "She had died of heart disease, of joy that kills."
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