Not until he was half-way home, until he came out on that ledge from
whence he could look--and always did look with a slight sense of
irritation--down on Bland's cabin as well as his own, did he recall
clearly where and when he had seen Charlie Mills.
Mills was the man who sat looking at Myra across the table that winter
morning when Hollister was suffering from the brief madness which
brought him to Bland's cabin with a desperate project in his
disordered mind.
Well, what of it, Hollister asked himself? It was nothing to him. He
was a disinterested bystander now. But looking down on Bland's cabin,
he reflected that his irritation was rooted in the fact that he did
not want to be a bystander. He desired to eliminate Myra Bland and all
that pertained to her from even casual contact with him. It seemed
absurd that he should feel himself to be in danger. But he had a dim
sense of danger. And instead of the aloofness which he desired, he
seemed to see vague threads drawing himself and Doris and Myra Bland
and this man Mills closer and closer together, to what end or purpose
he could not tell.
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