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Updated: May 31, 2025
All this, of course, is untrue, and I have every reason to believe that Karslake at this time was planning a novel of military life in the Southwest, and, wishing to get in closer touch with the milieu of the story, actually enlisted in order to be able to write authoritatively. He saw no active service until the time when his narrative begins. The year of his death is uncertain.
Turning aside from the staircase, Karslake bore her to the ladder leading to the skylight, whose broken glass crunched beneath his heels at every step. In the open air he pulled up for a moment's rest, but continued to hold Sofia in his arms.
And even granting that the outcome of any effort at self-assertion must be unhappy, she grew impatient. Meanwhile, she did nothing, she sat quietly on her perch, looked with stony composure over the heads of the multitude, indifferent alike to admiration and the uncharitable esteem of her own sex, and waited with a burning heart. Mr. Karslake ran true to form.
Chance did not again lead him to the table where he had sat with the man whom Sofia could not forget, and only the memory of that conversation held any place for Karslake in the consideration of the girl.
She put a hand to the knob, turned it, and swung the door open all on impulse then faltered, transfixed by the tableau before the fireplace. The door was silent on its hinges, and Karslake's back was to her. Victor, on the other hand, facing both Karslake and the door, unquestionably saw Sofia, but pretended not to, and had his say out with Karslake in a manner bitterly cynical.
She reeled, but somebody caught her up and bore her swiftly from the room, leaving two who fought together like beasts on the floor, locked in each other's arms, rolling and squirming, rearing and flopping.... The scorch of flames stung her cheek, but she forgot that when their broken light made visible the features of Karslake above the arms wherein she lay cradled.
But she didn't; their first few speeches failed to excite her curiosity in the least. She heard Mr. Karslake, who was becomingly affable to one of inferior station, express the perfunctory hope that he hadn't kept Nogam waiting long, and Nogam reply to the simple effect of "Oh, not at all, sir."
As soon as I have left, you will dismiss all the English servants, with a quarter's wage in advance in lieu of notice. Karslake will provide the money." "He does not accompany you?" "No." "And the man Nogam?" Victor appeared to hesitate. "What do you think?" he enquired at length. "What I have always thought." "That he is a spy?" "Yes." "But with no tangible support for your suspicions?" "None."
"Aren't you going to forgive me?" he asked, quietly, after a time. Sofia withdrew a pensive gaze from the ruddy bed of coals. "For what?" "You were kind enough to call it merely fibbing." "I'm still thinking about that." In fact, she had been thinking of nothing else. There was so much to be considered. Imprimis, that Karslake had been guilty of practising a deception upon her father.
Now at last she knew him, now the romance of her dreams of yesterday came true: through the mean masquerade of Nogam the man emerged, identifying himself in her sight unmistakably with that splendid stranger whom she had never quite forgotten since that old-time afternoon when he had met Karslake in the Café des Exiles and talked so intimately of his antecedents, hinting at a history of youthful years strangely analogous with her own.
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