And Doris would sit
there anticipating the sight of all those things which had been hidden
in a three-year night,--the sea rippling in the sun, the distant
purple hills, the nearer green of the forest and of grass and flowers,
all the light and color that made the world beautiful. She would be
looking forward to seeing him. And that was the stroke which Hollister
dreaded, which made him indifferent to other things.
He forgot Myra's presence. Six months earlier he would have resented
her being there, he would have been uneasy. Now it made no difference.
He had ceased to think of Myra as a possible menace. Lately he had not
thought of her or her affairs at all.
She came now and sat down upon the porch step within arm's length of
him, looking at him in thoughtful silence.
"Is it such a tragedy, after all?" she said at last.
"Is what?"
He took refuge in refusal to understand, although he understood
instantly what Myra meant. But he shrank from her intuitive
penetration of his troubled spirit. Like any other wounded animal, he
wanted to be left alone.
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