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He stared, and then burst into a laugh. The blood rushed to her
face. She had caught a familiar ring in his laugh, and it
wounded her. What business had he, at such a time, to laugh in
the old way?
"I'm sorry; but there is no other way, I'm afraid. No other way
but one," he corrected himself.
She raised her head sharply. "Well?"
"That you should be the woman. --Oh, my dear!" He had dropped
his mocking smile, and was at her side, her hands in his. "Oh,
my dear, don't you see that we've both been feeling the same
thing, and at the same hour? You lay awake thinking of it all
night, didn't you? So did I. Whenever the clock struck, I said
to myself: 'She's hearing it too.' And I was up before
daylight, and packed my traps--for I never want to set foot
again in that awful hotel where I've lived in hell for the last
three days. And I swore to myself that I'd go off with a woman
by the first train I could catch--and so I mean to, my dear."
She stood before him numb. Yes, numb: that was the worst of
it! The violence of the reaction had been too great, and she
could hardly understand what he was saying. Instead, she
noticed that the tassel of the window-blind was torn off again
(oh, those children!), and vaguely wondered if his luggage were
safe on the waiting taxi. One heard such stories ....
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