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 the time you went daily to his house on West Cedar Street, months later, I knew I loved you, but I felt too old and rather weary. But what good to talk about Jones? You were free, white, and twenty-one. I couldn't intrude. But I suffered, walking every morning past that small house. Oh, yes, I stopped in casually enough, three times. And that last time you were so flushed and lovely, and Jones...well, that day I called on you in the afternoon. I wanted to say I loved you. I wanted to forbid you ever to see that man again, wanted to carry you away with me in a hired hack. But I couldn't say and do these manly things. I could only talk about the Mormons and moral codes throughout the world.' He laughed ruefully, and Lanice saw his large hands were gripped into the sofa back until the knuckles whitened.

'Sears,' she said, and leaned towards him, 'it is so inappropriate that you should have suffered because of me. I wasn't worth it. I'm not now. Tell me'—and she looked away—'does it hurt you now so much—the memory of Anthony Jones?'

'If you had never met him, never loved him, you would be a different person to-day—not you—not the girl I love—some one else. It was seeing you with him that first interested me in you. I couldn't quite understand, and was, perhaps still am, puzzled. Now I can no more wish you different in that respect than I could wish your eyes a different color. It is you.' He leaned towards her rather heavily and gripped her wrists. She realized that if she returned his caress the conversation would be ended. With