He saw the body hanging in the dark room,
Maggie tumbling against it, the cries, the lights, the crowd . . .
He saw it all, hour after hour. He was not an imaginative man, but
it seemed to him that he had actually been present at this scene. He
had to attend the inquest. That had been horrible. With all eyes
upon him he stood up and answered their detestable questions. He had
trembled before those eyes. Suddenly the self-confidence of all his
life had left him. He had stammered in his replies, his hands had
trembled and he had been forced to press them close to his sides. He
had given his answers as though he were a guilty man.
He came then slowly, in the silence of his study, to the
consideration of Grace and Maggie. This would kill Grace. She had
altered, in a few days, amazingly; she would meet nobody, but shut
herself into her bedroom. She would not see the servants. She looked
at Paul as though she, like the rest of the world, blamed him. Paul
loved Grace. He had not known before how much. They had been
together all their lives and he had taken her protection and care of
him too much for granted.
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