She was
half sobbing again, but not with the weakness of a woman; her
grief was more like that of a despairing man.
"For Heaven's sake, pull yourself together," said Kirk. "You have
servants. I--I don't know what to say. I want to get out, I want
to think it over. I'm--dreadfully sorry. That's all I can seem to
think about now." He turned and went blindly to the door, leaving
her without a look behind.
When he had gone she drew off her riding-gloves, removed her hat,
and dropped them both upon the nearest chair, then crept wearily
up the stairs to her room.
A moment later the latticed wooden blinds at the end of the parlor
swung open, and through the front window stepped Stephen
Cortlandt. Behind him was a hammock swung in the coolest part of
the balcony. The pupils of his eyes, ordinarily so dead and
expressionless, were distended like those of a man under the
influence of a drug or suffering from a violent headache. He
listened attentively for an instant, his head on one side, then,
hearing footsteps approaching from the rear of the house, he
strolled into the hall.
A maid appeared with a tray, a glass, and a bottle. "I could not
find the aspirin," she said, "but I brought you some absinthe. It
will deaden the pain, sir.
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