The wards, containing sometimes three, sometimes six
or seven beds, opened on to this passage. The doors of the wards were all
open, and as she passed along she started at the sight of a boy sitting up
in bed. His head had been shaved and only a slight bristle covered the
crown. The head and face were a large white mass with two eyes. At the end
of the passage there was a window; and William sat there reading a book.
He saw her before she saw him, and when she caught sight of him she
stopped, holding the paper loose before her between finger and thumb, and
as she approached she saw that her manner had already broken the news to
him.
"I see that she didn't win," he said.
"No, dear, she didn't win. We wasn't lucky this time: next time--"
"There is no next time, at least for me. I shall be far away from here
when flat racing begins again. The November fogs will do for me, I feel
that they will. I hope there'll be no lingering, that's all. Better to
know the worst and make up your mind. So I have to go, have I? So there's
no hope, and I shall be under ground before the next meeting. I shall
never lay or take the odds again. It do seem strange. If only that mare
had won. I knew damned well she wouldn't if I came here."
Then, catching sight of the pained look on his wife's face, he said, "I
don't suppose it made no difference; it was to be, and what has to be has
to be.
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