But Tarvrille restrained his forbidding arm, and then after a second's interval put a hand on my shoulder. "Come," he said....
And so it was Mary and I parted from one another.
CHAPTER THE SEVENTH
Beginning Again
§ 1
In operas and romances one goes from such a parting in a splendid dignity of gloom. But I am no hero, and I went down the big staircase of Tarvrille's house the empty shuck of an abandoned desire. I was acutely ashamed of my recent tears. In the centre of the hall was a marble figure swathed about with yellow muslin. "On account of the flies," I said, breaking our silence.
My words were far too unexpected for Tarvrille to understand. "The flies," I repeated with an air of explanation.
"You're sure she'll be all right?" I said abruptly.