" George looked at it briefly and
turned back, rumbling with an interior laugh of some grimness. The
house was white no longer; nothing could be white which the town had
reached, and the town reached far beyond the beautiful white house
now. The owners had given up and painted it a despairing chocolate,
suitable to the freight-yard life it was called upon to endure.
George did not again risk going even so far as that, in the direction
of the millionaires, although their settlement began at least two
miles farther out. His thought of Lucy and her father was more a
sensation than a thought, and may be compared to that of a convicted
cashier beset by recollections of the bank he had pillaged--there are
some thoughts to which one closes the mind. George had seen Eugene
only once since their calamitous encounter. They had passed on
opposite sides of the street, downtown; each had been aware of the
other, and each had been aware that the other was aware of him, and
yet each kept his eyes straight forward, and neither had shown a
perceptible alteration of countenance.
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