His attention strayed from the
actuality of his wife to the immaterial shadow wavering on the wall.
There Emmy's profile, grotesquely enlarged and sharpened, grimaced at
him. August Turnbull's feelings disentangled and grew clearer, there
was a conventional memory of his wife as a young woman, the infinitely
sharper realization that soon he must be free, a vision of Meta Beggs
as she had been at dinner that night, and intense relief from nameless
strain.
He moved through the atmosphere of suspense that followed the knowledge
of Emmy's condition with a feeling of being entirely apart from his
family. Out of the chaos of his emotions the sense of release was most
insistent. Naturally he couldn't share it with any one else, not at
present. He avoided thinking directly of Meta Beggs, partly from the
shreds of the superstitious dread that had once colored his attitude
toward his wife and partly from the necessity to control what otherwise
would sweep him into a resistless torrent. However, most of his
impatience had vanished--a little while now, and in a discreet manner
he could grasp all that he had believed so hopelessly removed.
Except for the occasions of Louise's informal presence he dined alone
with Miss Beggs. They were largely silent, attacking their plates with
complete satisfaction. On the day of her monthly payment he drew the
check for a thousand dollars in place of the stipulated hundred, and
gave it to her without comment.
Pages:
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213