I
--I--" He stopped.
"Yes, yes. When you were here with me you felt strong."
"Yes, that's it. While I was here, I felt I could do the
thing. But when I went home--when I went up to my rooms--"
Again he paused, passing his handkerchief across his forehead.
"When you went up to your rooms?" Loder strove hard to keep
his control.
"To my room--? Oh, I--I forget about that. I forget about
the night" He hesitated confusedly. "All I remember is the
coming down to breakfast next morning--this morning--at twelve
o'clock--"
Loder turned to the table and poured himself out some whiskey.
"Yes," he acquiesced, in a very quiet voice.
At the word Chilcote rose from his seat. His disquietude was
very evident. "Oh, there was breakfast on the table when I
came down-stairs--breakfast with flowers and a horrible,
dazzling glare of sun. It was then, Loder, as I stood and
looked into the room, that the impossibility of it all came to
me--that I knew I couldn't stand it--couldn't go on."
Loder swallowed his whiskey slowly.
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