With a hasty movement Loder stepped forward, and, opening the
door, admitted a breath of chill air. Then on the threshold
he paused. It was his first sign of hesitation
--the one instant in which nature rebelled against the
conscience so tardily awakened. He stood motionless for a
moment, and it is doubtful whether even Eve fully fathomed the
bitterness of his renunciation--the blackness of the night
that stretched before his eyes.
Behind him was everything; before him, nothing. The
everything symbolized by the luxurious house, the eagerly
attentive servants, the pleasant atmosphere of responsibility;
the nothing represented by the broad public thoroughfare, the
passing figures, each unconscious of and uninterested in his
existence. As an interloper he had entered this house; as an
interloper--a masquerader--he had played his part, lived his
hour, proved himself; as an interloper he was now passing back
into the dim world of unrealized hopes and unachieved
ambitions.
He stood rigidly quiet, his strong figure silhouetted against
the lighted hall, his face cold and set; then, with a touch of
fatality, Chance cut short his struggle.
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