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Updated: June 14, 2025
The mask of her brazen audacity remained, but some feeling had overpowered her, and she began to weep like any woman in silent humiliation. He left her without a word, knowing enough of her sex to respect this inexplicable grief, and to wait for a more favorable time to improve his acquaintance. "Sonia's mate," he said to himself as he reached the street.
But Sonia's only reply was to sing the couplet of that song which she had remembered: "For three years I passed The nights with my love, In a beautiful bed In a splendid alcove. Though wine makes me sleepy, Yet love keeps me frisky."
"How do you know?" she asked quickly, as though suddenly regaining her reason. Sonia's face grew paler and paler, and she breathed painfully. "I know." She paused a minute. "Have they found him?" she asked timidly. "No." "Then how do you know about it?" she asked again, hardly audibly and again after a minute's pause. He turned to her and looked very intently at her.
He must give them their opportunity, if he would destroy Sonia's schemes against Aunt Lois, but felt sure that they would be unprepared to seize it, even if they dreamed it at hand.
Of course he knew that Sonia's position was an exceptional case, though unhappily not unique and not infrequent, indeed; but that very exceptionalness, her tinge of education, her previous life might, one would have thought, have killed her at the first step on that revolting path. What held her up surely not depravity?
This loving notice was a trap set by Sonia. On the road which led from Mulberry Street to Cambridge, from the home of Anne Dillon to the home of Lois Endicott, Sonia's detective lay in wait for the returning steps of the lost husband, and Sonia's eyes devoured the shadows, her ears drank in every sound. He laughed, he grew warm with the feeling of triumph. She would watch and listen in vain.
Sonia's questions had once again started a train of thought which ever since the trial had been running through my brain with maddening persistence. If I had not killed Marks, who had? How often had I asked myself that during the past three years, and how often had I abandoned the problem in utter weariness!
She would occupy herself with Stephen Strong, and the sight-seeing, and even Sonia's husband, who was a bore and old, too; but the prospect held out no charms for her. She knew that she loved him deeply this wild, fierce Gritzko more deeply than ever today, and the tears, one after another, trickled down her pale cheeks.
To right and left of us people bent over and whispered admiration down Fraulein Sonia's neck. She bowed in the grand style. "I am always successful," she said to me. "You see, when I act I AM. In Vienna, in the plays of Ibsen we had so many bouquets that the cook had three in the kitchen. But it is difficult here. There is so little magic. Do you not feel it?
He moved away at last, not remembering where he was; but when he got into the middle of the square an emotion suddenly came over him, overwhelming him body and mind. He suddenly recalled Sonia's words, "Go to the cross-roads, bow down to the people, kiss the earth, for you have sinned against it too, and say aloud to the whole world, 'I am a murderer." He trembled, remembering that.
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