But pray, pray go!"
He laid the light burden that scarcely weighed upon his arm down on the
pillows, very softly and gently, smoothing them mechanically with his
hand. Then he stooped and pressed one kiss more on the pale lips; they
never felt it, though the passion of that lengthened caress might almost
have waked the dead. And so those two parted, to meet again--upon earth
never any more.
The next time woman's lips touched Guy Livingstone's they were his
mother's, and he had been a corpse an hour.
He went, without looking back; his step was slow and unsteady, very
different from the firm, even tread of three hours ago. The power of
volition and self-direction was very nearly gone. Through a half open
door on the lower story he caught a glimpse of a haggard face lighted up
by wolfish eyes, and heard a savage, growling voice. He felt that both
eyes and voice cursed him as he passed; and afterward, recalling these
things vaguely, as one does the incidents of a hideous dream, he knew
that, for the second time, he had seen Cyril Brandon. Guy could hardly
tell how he reached London that night, for the brain fever was coming on
that the next morning held him in its clutches fast.
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