His invalid wife and her money had been only the thin thread that held his life together; beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing, interesting, memorable affairs. And, as he quitted the room, the poor widow fell with her face upon the floor. She watched them sleep for what seemed hours from the high window until her body grew colder than the stone sill she perched upon. Then she was out of the door and running, fast. The important secret remained locked in my breast, but I resolved to be avenged.
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