"
"You mean he might have had twenty wives?"
"He might have had twenty, and he'd have been the same to all of them,
because they play no part, except to make his home a place where his body
can live. That's the kind of thing, when a wife finds it out, that
either kills her slowly, or drives her mad."
"It didn't kill you, mother," remarked Carnac with a little laugh.
"No, it didn't kill me."
"And it didn't drive you mad," he continued.
She looked at him with burning intensity. "Oh, yes, it did--but I became
sane again." She gazed out of the window, down the hillside. "Your
father will soon be home. Is there anything you want to say before
that?"
Carnac wanted to tell his tragic story, but it was difficult. He caught
his mother's hand.
"What's the matter, Carnac? You are in trouble. I can see it in your
eyes--I feel it. Is it money?" she asked. She knew it was not, yet she
could not help but ask. He shook his head in negation.
"Is it business?"
She knew his answer, yet she must make these steps before she said to
him: "Is it a woman?"
He nodded now. She caught his eyes and held them with her own. All the
silence and sorrow, all the remorse and regret of the past twenty-six
years gathered in her face.
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