The coarseness, the flabbiness, the
purplish hues were no longer there. The bulging, bleary eyes, on which
the glaze of continuous dissipation had once settled as if to stay,
were not as she remembered them. Instead, they were bright and clear,
and lay deep in their sockets. The lips, now beardless, were no longer
thick and repulsive. She marveled. This was not the vacillating,
whiskey-willed man she had known for so long; here was a determined
character, swelling with force, fierce in the resources of a belated
integrity of purpose. No longer the careless, handsome youth, nor the
honorless man, but a power! Whether that power stood for good or evil,
it mattered not; he was a man such as she had never expected him to
be.
She was sensitive to one thing in particular, although the realization
of it did not come to her at once, she was so taken up with the study
of him as a whole: she missed the cigar from the corner of his mouth.
He stopped in front of her.
"This is the first time I have ever been asked into this house," he
said, his lips curling in a bitter, unfriendly smile. "Where is your
father?"
"His rooms are in the other end of the house, upstairs.
Pages:
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508