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Updated: July 20, 2025
At the entrance to the big office-building he debated a moment. "Wait!" he directed Paul. He was uncertain how long he might be permitted to remain in that building. If he must go to jail, he would ride. He wondered if Paul knew the address of the best jail. He could have things sent in to him magazines and fruit. Inside the entrance he paused before the cigar-stand.
They walked out of the little office, and through the long aisle down the center of the floor of the office-building, Marjorie, still miserably conscious of the eyes, and the emotions behind the eyes, and quite as conscious that they were emotions that she ought to be ashamed of minding. "Now where shall we go for luncheon?" demanded Francis joyously, as they got outside.
His face, usually ruddy beneath the dark, suntanned skin but now white and haggard, showed a fleeting little smile, as if he grinned at his own weakness and lack of faith; he rose unsteadily and clumped out of the office-building. Gone! Nan gone like that! No, no! He would not believe it.
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