With the toe of his boot he dispersed their scorched and
crumbling wafer. Stamp them in! Stamp in that man's life! Burnt! No more
doubts, no more of this gnawing fear! Burnt? A man--an innocent-sewer
rat! Recoiling from the fire he grasped his forehead. It was burning hot
and seemed to be going round.
Well, it was done! Only fools without will or purpose regretted. And
suddenly he laughed. So Larry had died for nothing! He had no will,
no purpose, and was dead! He and that girl might now have been living,
loving each other in the warm night, away at the other end of the
world, instead of lying dead in the cold night here! Fools and weaklings
regretted, suffered from conscience and remorse. A man trod firmly, held
to his purpose, no matter what!
He went to the window and drew back the curtain. What was that? A gibbet
in the air, a body hanging? Ah! Only the trees--the dark trees--the
winter skeleton trees! Recoiling, he returned to his armchair and sat
down before the fire. It had been shining like that, the lamp turned
low, his chair drawn up, when Larry came in that afternoon two months
ago. Bah! He had never come at all! It was a nightmare. He had been
asleep.
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