Robert laughed. He argued it over
with himself. It was true. For that matter Howard and Gertie and Connie
would all be better dead. There was no use or purpose in their living.
Only sentimentalists like Francey wanted to patch them up and keep them
on their feet.
People who cluttered up life ought to be cleared out of it.
He felt light-headed, yet extraordinarily sure of himself again. He
answered Rogers' questions with the old lucidity. And presently he found
himself in the corridor, still arguing his theme over. He would prove to
Francey that she must let Howard and Gertie go to the devil and they
would never quarrel again.
He came to the head of the stairs where they met after the morning's work.
The steps were very broad and white and shallow, and gave the impression
of great distance. Mr. Ricardo, at the bottom of them, was a black
speck--a bird that had blundered into the building by mistake and beaten
itself breathless against the walls. As he saw Robert he began to drag
himself up, limping. He seemed to shrivel then to a mere face, stricken
and yellow, that gaped and mouthed.
Robert did not move. He stood leaning against the balustrade. It was as
though an iron fist had smashed through the protecting wall about him,
letting in a rush of bitter wind.
"Robert--Robert!"
He nodded.
"I'm coming----"
For he had known instantly.
6
The tragic journey through the streets was over.
Pages:
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221