A chill
colder than remorse, a chill that bordered upon actual fear,
touched Loder in that moment. With the first impulsive
gesture he had allowed himself, he touched her arm.
"Eve--" he began, unsteadily; then the word died off his lips.
Without a sound, almost without a movement, she returned his
glance, and something in her eyes checked what he might have
said. In that one expressive look he understood all she had
desired, all she had renounced--the full extent of the ordeal
she had consented to, and the motive that had compelled her
consent. He drew back with the heavy sense that repentance
and pity were equally futile--equally out of place.
Still in silence she stepped to the pavement and stood aside
while Loder dismissed the cab. To both there was something
symbolic, something prophetic, in the dismissal. Without
intention and almost unconsciously they drew closer together
as the horse turned, its hoofs clattering on the roadway, its
harness jingling; and, still without realization, they looked
after the vehicle as it moved away down the long, shadowed
thoroughfare towards the lights and the crowds that they had
left.
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