Part 6 He became quite sure, by a sort of accumulation of reflection, as the day wore on. You did not find him, but did you find his pistol? In the room beyond the bookroom there—a big room where a table had fallen. Then he would turn his face to her, and she would have to think of herself in his eyes. The sounds that reach the ear, and the objects that meet the eye, are all calculated to awaken a train of sad and serious contemplation. His hair flew out from the sides of his head like black bats from a belfry, it was unruly and long. The last thing that she remembered was her eyes crossing as she tried to focus upon the crunch of leaves as she lay heaving upon them, dampening them further with the outpouring of her sweat as it leaked from her clothing. I never want you to be ashamed of me. It was a gracious gesture, she thought, as he trudged to the Beck’s humble doorstep in his stiff blue polyester uniform.
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