She said, following famous
philosophers, that Chance was merely the name we give to the effect of
laws which we cannot understand. And, upon this high level of
conversation, she poured forth his coffee and passed his toast.
It was a lovely morning after the tempest.
Goldie, all newly combed, and looking as though he had never seen a
roof, strolled pompously into the room with tail unfurled. Miss Ebag
picked the animal up and kissed it passionately.
"Darling!" she murmured, not exactly to Mr Ullman, nor yet exactly to
the cat. Then she glanced effulgently at Carl and said, "When I think
that you risked your precious life, in that awful storm, to save my poor
Goldie?... You must have guessed how dear he was to me?... No, really,
Mr Ullman, I cannot thank you properly! I can't express my--"
Her eyes were moist.
Although not young, she was two years younger. Her age was two years
less. The touch of man had never profaned her. No masculine kiss had
ever rested on that cheek, that mouth. And Carl felt that he might be
the first to cull the flower that had so long waited. He did not see,
just then, the hollow beneath her chin, the two lines of sinew that,
bounding a depression, disappeared beneath her collarette.
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