The brother, during an interview with Lola,
said bitter things to her, reproaching her with the man's downfall, and
cast on her the responsibility of his death.
"He spoke," she said, "as if I had suggested the murder and practically
put the knife into the poor crazy little fellow's hand."
The Vauvenardes must have been an amiable family.
"Before I came," she said a little while later, "I still had
some tenderness for him--a woman has for the only man that has
been--really--in her life. I wish I could feel it now. I wish I could
feel some respect even. But I can't. If I could, it would lessen the
horror that has got hold of me to my bones."
It was a torture to her generous soul that she could not grieve for him.
She could only shudder at the tragedy. In her heart she grieved more for
Anastasius Papadopoulos, and in so doing she was, in her feminine way,
self-accusative of callous lack of human feeling. It was my attempt to
bring her to a more rational state of mind that caused us to review the
dead man's career, and recapitulate the unpleasing incidents of the last
interview.
Pages:
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308