"Courage," she said
gayly. Bartley rose and rang the bell. Thomas
brought him his hat and stick and ulster. At
the sight of these, the supercilious Angora
moved restlessly, quitted her red cushion by
the fire, and came up, waving her tail in
vexation at these ominous indications of
change. Alexander stooped to stroke her, and
then plunged into his coat and drew on his
gloves. His wife held his stick, smiling.
Bartley smiled too, and his eyes cleared.
"I'll work like the devil, Winifred, and be home
again before you realize I've gone." He kissed
her quickly several times, hurried out of the
front door into the rain, and waved to her
from the carriage window as the driver was
starting his melancholy, dripping black
horses. Alexander sat with his hands clenched
on his knees. As the carriage turned up the hill,
he lifted one hand and brought it down violently.
"This time"--he spoke aloud and through his set teeth--
"this time I'm going to end it!"
On the afternoon of the third day out,
Alexander was sitting well to the stern,
on the windward side where the chairs were
few, his rugs over him and the collar of his
fur-lined coat turned up about his ears.
The weather had so far been dark and raw.
For two hours he had been watching the low,
dirty sky and the beating of the heavy rain
upon the iron-colored sea. There was a long,
oily swell that made exercise laborious.
The decks smelled of damp woolens, and the air
was so humid that drops of moisture kept
gathering upon his hair and mustache.
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