After his first start of surprise at seeing her at the table, Cresswell
uttered nothing immediately save the commonplaces of greeting. He
mentioned one or two bits of news from the paper, upon which she
commented while dawdling over her egg. When the servant went out and
closed the door, she paused a moment considering whether to open by
appeal or explanation. His smooth tones startled her:
"Of course, after your art exhibit and the scene of last night, Mary, it
will be impossible for us to live longer together."
She stared at him, utterly aghast--voiceless and numb.
"I have seen the crisis approaching for some time, and the Negro
business settles it," he continued. "I have now decided to send you to
my home in Alabama, to my father or your brother. I am sure you will be
happier there."
He rose. Bowing courteously, he waited, coldly and calmly, for her to
go.
All at once she hated him and hated his aristocratic repression; this
cold calm that hid hell and its fires. She looked at him, wide-eyed, and
said in a voice hoarse with horror and loathing:
"You brute! You nasty brute!"
_Thirty-two_
ZORA'S WAY
Zora was looking on her world with the keener vision of one who, blind
from very seeing, closes the eyes a space and looks again with wider
clearer vision. Out of a nebulous cloudland she seemed to step; a land
where all things floated in strange confusion, but where one thing stood
steadfast, and that was love.
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