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 That over my last hissing glimpse of it There might have closed an ocean. He went home The next day, and the same unhappy chance That first had fettered me and my aversion To his unprofitable need of me Brought us abruptly face to face again Beside the carriage that had come for him. We met, and for a moment we were still— Together. But I was reading in his eyes More than I read at college or at law In years that followed. There was blankly nothing For me to say, if not that I was sorry; And that was more than hate would let me say— Whatever the truth might be. At last he spoke, And I could see the vengeance in his eyes,