It’s the rarest luck, the wildest, most impossible accident. After he was gone in the morning, Ruth would steal into the study and hurriedly read what he had written the previous night. And he who opposes me in it shall feel the weight of my hand. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations. It wasn’t. The clergyman, meanwhile, proceeded with the service, while the coffin was deposited at the brink of the grave. That handsome, finely drawn face belonged to a soul with clean ideals. Why, he can scarcely be twenty. She looked down tassels of his shiny shoes with a scowl.
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