She looked up and said, a little breathlessly, “I’m sorry, aunt, but I don’t think I can. He was no Hoddy, but a tremendous man, with hairy arms and bearded face and drink-shattered intellect. Spare him!—pity me!" With this she arose, and, taking up the infant, was about to proceed down stairs, when she was alarmed by hearing the street-door opened, and the sound of heavy footsteps entering the house. ‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. 135 < 17 > OWNER OF A LONELY HEART School wrapped for the season: days grew longer.
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