Home / News Author Index Title Index Category Index Search Your Bookshelf |
E. W. Hornung: Dead Men Tell No TalesCHAPTER 19: MY GREAT HOUR (continued)She looked at him standing by, his head bowed, his arms folded; next moment she was very close to me, and fresh tears were in her eyes. But I stepped backward, for I had had enough. "Can you not forgive me?" "Oh, dear, yes." "Can't you understand?" "Perfectly," said I. "You know you said - " "I have said so many things!" "But this was that you - you loved me well enough to - give me up." And the silly ego in me - the endless and incorrigible I - imagined her pouting for a withdrawal of those brave words. "I not only said it," I declared, "but I meant every word of it." None the less had I to turn from her to hide my anguish. I leaned my elbows on the narrow stone chimney-piece, which, with the grate below and a small mirror above, formed an almost solitary oasis in the four walls of books. In the mirror I saw my face; it was wizened, drawn, old before its time, and merely ugly in its sore distress, merely repulsive in its bloody bandages. And in the mirror also I saw Rattray, handsome, romantic, audacious, all that I was not, nor ever would be, and I "understood" more than ever, and loathed my rival in my heart. I wheeled round on Eva. I was not going to give her up - to him. I would tell her so before him - tell him so to his face. But she had turned away; she was listening to some one else. Her white forehead glistened. There were voices in the hall. "Mr. Cole! Mr. Cole! Where are you, Mr. Cole?" This is page 155 of 166. [Mark this Page] Mark any page to add this title to Your Bookshelf. (0 / 10 books on shelf) Buy a copy of Dead Men Tell No Tales at Amazon.com
Customize text appearance: |
(c) 2003-2012 LiteraturePage.com and Michael Moncur.
All rights
reserved.
For information about public domain texts appearing here, read the copyright information and disclaimer. |