He was sorry for no
one now--on Monday morning there would be his business, and later there
would be a girl of another class whose whole life he was; these were the
things nearest his heart. In the strangeness of the brightening day it
seemed presumptuous that with this feeble, broken instrument of his mind
he had ever tried to think.
There was the sun, letting down great glowing masses of heat; there was
life, active and snarling, moving about them like a fly swarm--the dark
pants of smoke from the engine, a crisp "all aboard!" and a bell
ringing. Confusedly Maury saw eyes in the milk train staring curiously
up at him, heard Gloria and Anthony in quick controversy as to whether
he should go to the city with her, then another clamor and she was gone
and the three men, pale as ghosts, were standing alone upon the platform
while a grimy coal-heaver went down the road on top of a motor truck,
carolling hoarsely at the summer morning.
CHAPTER III
THE BROKEN LUTE
_It is seven-thirty of an August evening. The windows in the living room
of the gray house are wide open, patiently exchanging the tainted inner
atmosphere of liquor and smoke for the fresh drowsiness of the late hot
dusk.
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