I made some
efforts to break her reserve, but they failed. Nor, indeed, was I
over-anxious to have them succeed. She did speak of her
husband's jealousy, however (though she dropped her glance and
slurred over the word as she did so); and from what she said, as
well as by reading between the lines of her statement, I gathered a
fairly clear picture of the situation. Echoes of Max's old jealousy
would still make themselves felt in his domestic life. A clash, an
irritation, would sometimes bring my name to his lips. He still,
sometimes, tortured her with questions concerning our relations
"I never answer these questions of his," she said, her eyes on my
office rug. "Not a word. I just let him talk. But sometimes I feel
like putting an end to my life," she concluded, with a smile
I listened with expressions of surprise and sympathy and with a
feeling of compunction. A thought was sluggishly trailing through
my mind: "Does she still care for me?"
Margolis had built up some sort of auction business, but his
real-estate mania had ruined it and eaten up all he had except
three thousand dollars, which Dora had contrived to save from the
wreck.
Pages:
757
758
759
760
761
762
763
764
765
766
767
768
769
770
771
772
773
774
775
776
777
778
779
780
781