"John, don't do what
you'll be sorry for."
"I never have."
"When Fabian was born, you remember what you said? You said: 'Life's
worth living now.'"
"Yes, but what did I say when Carnac was born?"
"I didn't hear, John," she answered, her face turning white.
"Well, I said naught."
CHAPTER XII
CARNAC SAYS GOOD-BYE
Fabian Grier's house was in a fashionable quarter of a fashionable
street, the smallest of all built there; but it was happily placed,
rather apart from others, at the very end of the distinguished promenade.
Behind it, a little way up the hill, was a Roman Catholic chapel.
The surroundings of the house were rural for a city habitation. Behind
it were commendable trees, from one of which a swing was hung. In a
corner, which seemed to catch the sun, was a bird-cage on a pole, sought
by pigeons and doves. In another corner was a target for the bow and
arrow-evidence of the vigorous life of the owners of the house.
On the morning after Carnac told his mother he was going away, the doors
of the house were all open. Midway between breakfast and lunch, the
voices of children sang through the dining-room bright with the morning
sun. The children were going to the top of the mountain-the two
youngsters who made the life of Fabian and his wife so busy.
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