Edward answered: "So long."
He swung round on his heel and, large, slouching, and walking
with a heavy deliberate pace, he went out of the station. I
followed him and got up beside him in the high dog-cart. It was
the most horrible performance I have ever seen.
And, after that, a holy peace, like the peace of God which passes
all understanding, descended upon Branshaw Teleragh. Leonora
went about her daily duties with a sort of triumphant smile--a very
faint smile, but quite triumphant. I guess she had so long since
given up any idea of getting her man back that it was enough for
her to have got the girl out of the house and well cured of her
infatuation. Once, in the hall, when Leonora was going out,
Edward said, beneath his breath--but I just caught the words:
"Thou hast conquered, O pale Galilean." It was like his
sentimentality to quote Swinburne. But he was perfectly quiet and
he had given up drinking. The only thing that he ever said to me
after that drive to the station was:
"It's very odd. I think I ought to tell you, Dowell, that I haven't any
feelings at all about the girl now it's all over. Don't you worry
about me. I'm all right." A long time afterwards he said: "I guess it
was only a flash in the pan.
Pages:
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339