He led her to the spare room, and brought in her two travel-worn bags,
and turned on the light. It was a man's room, but Mary Josephine stood
for a moment surveying it with delight.
"It's home, Derry, real home," she whispered.
He did not explain to her that it was a borrowed home and that this was
his first night in it. Such unimportant details would rest until
tomorrow. He showed her the bath and its water system and then
explained to Wallie that his sister was in the house and he would have
to bunk in the kitchen. At the last he knew what he was expected to do,
what he must do. He kissed Mary Josephine good night. He kissed her
twice. And Mary Josephine kissed him and gave him a hug the like of
which he had never experienced until this night. It sent him back to
the fire with blood that danced like a drunken man's.
He turned the lights out and for an hour sat in the dying glow of the
birch. For the first time since he had come from Miriam Kirkstone's he
had the opportunity to think, and in thinking he found his brain
crowded with cold and unemotional fact. He saw his lie in all its naked
immensity. Yet he was not sorry that he had lied. He had saved
Conniston.
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