His throat filled; he wanted to weep. Mutual concessions!—and then to turn it around so that it suggested that an act of kindness might be interpreted as moral obloquy! Walls; queer, invisible walls that receded whenever she reached out, but that still remained between her and what she sought. ‘But I have the pistol,’ Gerald pointed out. He seemed to charge her with the ruin of their situation. He was now as civil as he had just been insolent. She was amazed that at over sixhundred years old that she could miss her parents so bitterly. But at this point he was still subservient, still outwardly humble, in spite of the blackhearted villainy that was even then burgeoning in his breast. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. Then she spoke, with a carelessness he instantly suspected. In all her life no living thing had had to depend upon her, not even a dog or a cat. Poor Ben was not so fortunate. His face darkened.
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