On the center
table there was a straw hat. Shoes stood beside the chair at the head
of the bed. An immaculate white shirt hung over the back of the chair,
while on the seat were undergarments. He rubbed his eyes. Then he sat
down on the chaise longue and stared, with growing comprehension. The
coverlet on the bed was neatly turned down; a night-gown was there,
clean and white. Beside it was another, soft and filmy.
Braddock put his hands to his face and sobbed dry, choking sobs that
were not of anguish, but of bewilderment.
At last he pulled himself together and arose to make a tour of the
room. On the dressing-table there were collars and neckties and cuffs.
His own old-fashioned silver watch lay there before him, with its
heavy gold chain attached. He remembered with a pang that he had given
it to her for preservation long ago, because it had once belonged to
his grandfather and he was sentimental about it.
He looked again at the clothes he wore, the clothes the state had
placed on him when he left the penitentiary; he looked at his soiled
hands; in the glass he caught a glimpse of his haggard, unshaven face
and the dirt streaks that the tears had made.
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