I will put it at the other side of the room. Do you mind the
tumbler? Now drink, and tell me only what you feel inclined, neither
more nor less."
"It is all written down," began Severino, in better voice for the first
few drams: "how I first heard her singing through the open windows in
the summer--only last summer!--how she heard me playing, and how
afterwards we came to meet. She was unhappy; he was a bad husband; but I
only saw it for myself. He was nice enough to me in his way--liked to
send round for me to play when they had anybody there--but there was
only one reason why I went. Oh, yes ... the ground she trod on ... the
air she breathed! I make no secret of it now; if I made any then, it
was because I knew her too well, and feared to lose what I had got. And
yet--that brute, that bully, that coarse--"
He checked himself by an effort that stained his face a sickly brown in
the light of the distant candle. Langholm handed him the tumbler, and a
few more drams went down to do the only good--the temporary good--that
human aid could do for Severino now. His eyes brightened. He lay still
and silent, collecting strength and self-control.
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