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 on the ornamented organ and sang her ballads. It was easy, alone in the dark room, to imagine herself on a bleak and rainy street, deserted by the Tempter, spurned by Bill. Her greatest pleasure always was in imagining herself sundered hopelessly from Bill's home, where the chenille curtains hung behind the ornamental lamp on the center table with its corded mat. It was a far happier arrangement to contemplate than domestic felicity and a roomful of kids. It was romantic; it was sweetened melancholy by the cup.

She sang Ma-ha-goreet, and We Never Speak As We Pass By, with a moving vision of Bill coming along in his diamond and prosperous checked suit, drifting by her where she stood in the drizzle with a shawl over her head, looking at him with sorrowful, penitent appeal. Bill would not pass by without speaking under such circumstances, she knew right well. He would say something, and say it hard.

Goosie had an enjoyable hour alone in the parlor, tears on her nose, inside her nose, creating a general dampness all around that stubby member, falling at times from the end of it down to the organ keys.

Louise slipped away to her room presently, where she sat in the dark by the open window, considering her culpability with bitterness and shame. She had shown humanity and tenderness where it was least deserved. At that very minute Withers would be gathering his men to come riding to McPacken, open the gates and drive the cattle away again to the range. Any man