Chapter XXXIII

           

           TwoorthreedayslaterDirkStroevecalledonme.

           "Ihearyou’veseenBlanche,"hesaid.

           "Howonearthdidyoufindout?"

           "Iwastoldbysomeonewhosawyousittingwiththem.Whydidn’tyoutellme?"

           "Ithoughtitwouldonlypainyou."

           "WhatdoIcareifitdoes?YoumustknowthatIwanttohearthesmallestthingabouther."

           Iwaitedforhimtoaskmequestions.

           "Whatdoesshelooklike?"hesaid.

           "Absolutelyunchanged."

           "Doessheseemhappy?"

           Ishruggedmyshoulders.

           "HowcanItell?Wewereinacafe;wewereplayingchess;Ihadnoopportunitytospeaktoher."

           "Oh,butcouldn’tyoutellbyherface?"

           Ishookmyhead.Icouldonlyrepeatthatbynoword,bynohintedgesture,hadshegivenanindicationofherfeelings.HemustknowbetterthanIhowgreatwereherpowersofself-control.Heclaspedhishandsemotionally.

           "Oh,I’msofrightened.Iknowsomethingisgoingtohappen,somethingterrible,andIcandonothingtostopit."

           "Whatsortofthing?"Iasked.

           "Oh,Idon’tknow,"hemoaned,seizinghisheadwithhishands."Iforeseesometerriblecatastrophe."

           Stroevehadalwaysbeenexcitable,butnowhewasbesidehimself;therewasnoreasoningwithhim.IthoughtitprobableenoughthatBlancheStroevewouldnotcontinuetofindlifewithStricklandtolerable,butoneofthefalsestofproverbsisthatyoumustlieonthebedthatyouhavemade.Theexperienceoflifeshowsthatpeopleareconstantlydoingthingswhichmustleadtodisaster,andyetbysomechancemanagetoevadetheresultoftheirfolly.

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