He wants to come and ask
your forgiveness--he loves you so much."
He got up from his chair, almost pushing her away from him. "Falk! Falk! I
don't know any one called that. I haven't got a son----"
He turned, looking at her. Then suddenly put his arms around her and
kissed her, holding her tight to his breast.
"You're a good girl," he said. "Dear Joan! I'm glad you've not left me
too. I love you, Joan, and I've not been good enough to you. Oh, no, I
haven't! Many things I might have done, and now it's too late...too
late..."
He kissed her again and again, stroking her hair, then he said that he was
tired, very tired--he'd sleep to-night. He went slowly upstairs.
He undressed rapidly, flinging off his clothes as though they hurt him. As
though some one else had unexpectedly come into the room, he saw himself
standing before the long glass in the dressing-room, naked save for his
vest. He looked at himself and laughed.
How funny he looked only in his vest--how funny were he to walk down the
High Street like that! They would say he was mad. And yet he wouldn't be
mad.
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