Garson rose from his chair as if to go to her, and his
face passed swiftly from compassion to ferocity as his gaze went
from the woman he had saved from the river to the girl who had
been the first cause of her seeking a grave in the waters. Yet,
though he longed with every fiber of him to comfort the stricken
woman, he did not dare intrude upon her in this time of her
anguish, but quietly dropped back into his seat and sat watching
with eyes now tender, now baleful, as they shifted their
direction.
Aggie took advantage of the pause. Her voice was acid.
"Some people are sneaks--just sneaks!"
Somehow, the speech was welcome to the girl, gave her a touch of
courage sufficient for cowardly protestations. It seemed to
relieve the tension drawn by the other woman's torment. It was
more like the abuse that was familiar to her. A gush of tears
came.
"I'll never forgive myself, never!" she moaned.
Contempt mounted in Mary's breast.
"Oh, yes, you will," she said, malevolently. "People forgive
themselves pretty easily.
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