Her heart failed her and her resolution became water. To return was impossible,—to raise himself certain destruction. He was just as much a greater master than any other I ever saw, as he was a greater judge of time and measure. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. Not entirely. The honey on his tongue turned to ashes. He hadn't gambled or played the horses or hit the booze back there in little old New York…. He wondered if the young fool had any idea of what he had drawn in this tragic lottery called marriage.
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