"
"Well?"
"Think."
The doctor uttered a non-professional monosyllable. "What will you do,"
he propounded, waving his arm back along the trail toward the Van
Arsdale camp, "when this little game of yours is played out?"
"God knows!" said Banneker. It suddenly struck him that life would be
blank, empty of interest or purpose, when Camilla Van Arsdale died, when
there was no longer the absorbing necessity to preserve, intact and
impregnable, the fortress of love and lies wherewith he had surrounded
her.
"When this chapter is finished," said the other, "you come down to
Angelica City with me. Perhaps we'll go on a little camping trip
together. I want to talk to you."
The train carried him away. Oppressed and thoughtful, Banneker walked
slowly across the blazing, cactus-set open toward his shack. There was
still the simple housekeeping work to be done, for he had left early
that morning. He felt suddenly spiritless, flaccid, too inert even for
the little tasks before him. The physician's pronouncement had taken the
strength from him. Of course he had known that it couldn't be very
long--but only a few weeks!
He was almost at the shack when he noticed that the door stood half
ajar.
But here, where everything had been disorder, was now order.
Pages:
761
762
763
764
765
766
767
768
769
770
771
772
773
774
775
776
777
778
779
780
781
782
783
784
785