Then he would observe some
significant interchange of looks between Mills and Myra and be sure of
currents of feeling, furtive and powerful, sweeping about those two.
It angered him. Hollister was all for swift and forthright action,
deeds done in the open. If they loved, why did they not commit
themselves boldly to the undertaking, take matters in their own hands
and have an end to all secrecy? He felt a menace in this secrecy, as
if somehow it threatened him. He perceived that Mills suffered, that
something gnawed at the man. When he rested from his work, when he sat
quiescent beside the fire where they ate at noon together, that cloak
of melancholy brooding wrapped Mills close. He seldom talked. When he
did there was in his speech a resentful inflection like that of a man
who smarts under some injury, some injustice, some deep hurt which he
may not divulge but which nags him to the limits of his endurance.
Hollister was Mills' sole company after the other two men left. They
would work within sight of each other all day. They ate together at
noon.
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