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Updated: June 16, 2025
He went on violently for a long stretch, ending with a sob of rage. "I suppose you are satisfied," he said hoarsely to Droom. Graydon and Jane looked on in surprise and distress. Droom's gaze did not swerve nor his expression change. "Father, didn't you expect me to come?" asked Graydon. "Don't you want to see me?" "Not here. Why should I have tried to keep you from returning to this country?
Droom's description of the lady certainly did not correspond to what his memory recalled. Investigation, however, assured him that the Cables in the mansion near the lake were the people he had known in New York. Bansemer took no one into his confidence, not even Droom.
A single atom of determination lingered in his soul, however, and he tried to build upon it for the future. Rigby's wedding invitation had come to him that morning almost as a mockery. He tore it to pieces with a scowl of recollection. Droom's effects were on the way to New York. He hung back, humbly waiting for Graydon to suggest that they should travel East on the same train.
Bansemer was alone and where Droom's eyes could not see him, but something told him that the grin hung outside the door for many minutes, as if waiting for a chance to pop in and tantalise him. Bansemer was a good-looking man of the coarser mould the kind of man that merits a second look in passing, and the second look is not always in his favour. He was thirty-five years of age, but looked older.
The word penitentiary fell slowly, mechanically from his lips. He looked into Droom's eyes, hoping it might be a joke of the calloused old clerk. "You it it can't be true," he murmured, his trembling hands going to his temples. "Yes, my boy, it is true. I didn't write to you about it, because I wanted to put it off as long as I could. It's for five years." "God!" burst from the wretched son.
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