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"Poor woman!" said Rulledge, with a tenderness that made Minver smile. "What was it that did happen?" Wanhope examined his cup for some dregs of coffee, and then put it down with an air of resignation. I offered to touch the bell, but, "No, don't," he said. "I'm better without it."
The worst was trying to walk without limping, and to talk cheerfully and encouragingly, with that agony tearing at him. But he managed somehow, and he was congratulating himself on his success, when he tumbled down in a dead faint." "Oh, come, now!" Minver protested. "It is like an old-fashioned story, where things are operated by accident instead of motive, isn't it?"
What better could a widow do with the money she had inherited from a husband she probably did not love than give it to a man like Alford or to an ass like Alford, Minver corrected himself.
At any rate, they were married that fall. They are I believe he's pursuing his archaeological studies there living in Athens." "Together?" Minver smoothly inquired. At this expression of cynicism Rulledge gave him a look that would have incinerated another. Wanhope went out with Minver, and then, after a moment's daze, Rulledge exclaimed: "Jove!
You see, it's the little villa her mother had taken that winter on the Viale Petrarca, just outside of Florence. It was the first place I met her, but not the last." "Don't be obvious," Minver ordered. His brother did not mind him. "I thought it was mighty nice of Blakey.
She believed he really saw I suppose," he turned to me, "there's no harm in our recognizing now that they didn't always get on smoothly together?" "Did they ever?" I asked. "Oh, yes oh, yes," said the psychologist, kindly. "They were very fond of each other, and often very peaceful." "I never happened to be by," I said. "Used to fight like cats and dogs," said Minver.
He now believed that without her he must die, without her he could not wish to live. "Jove," Rulledge broke in at this point of Wanhope's story, which I am telling again so badly, "I think Alford was in luck." Minver gave a harsh cackle.
I'd rather hear your guess, if you know Braybridge better than I," Wanhope said. "Well," Halson compromised, "perhaps I've known him longer." He asked, with an effect of coming to business: "Where were you?" "Tell him, Rulledge," Minver ordered, and Rulledge apparently asked nothing better. He told him, in detail, all we knew from any source, down to the moment of Wanhope's arrested conjecture.
But she can't be said to have knowingly searched the void for any presence." "Oh, I'm not sure about that, professor," Minver put in. "Go a little slower, if you expect me to follow you." "It's all a mystery, the most beautiful mystery of life," Wanhope resumed. "I don't believe I could make out the case, as I feel it to be." "Braybridge's part of the case is rather plain, isn't it?"
"They seem rather to like it, though, some of them, if you mean the game of love," Minver said. "Especially when they're not in earnest about it." "Oh, there are plenty of spoiled women," Wanhope admitted. "But I don't mean flirting. I suppose that the average unspoiled woman is rather frightened than otherwise when she knows that a man is in love with her."
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