I must be mad!
With a shudder that was half a sob I turned away and walked down the
street and into the one which would lead to Scarborough Square. As I
walked my shoulders straightened. What was the matter with me? Was
I becoming that which I loathed--a suspicious, spying person? I was
insulting Selwyn. He knew I hated mystery, however, knew the right
of explanation was mine, knew that I expected of any man who was my
friend that his life should be as open as my life. If I had hurt
him, angered him by my question when I last saw him, he had hurt, had
angered me far more. For now I was angry. Did he imagine I was the
sort of woman who accepted reticence with resignation? I was not.
At the corner Mr. Fogg was standing in the door of his little shop,
holding a blue bottle up to the light and examining it with critical
care. He had on his usual clothes of many colors, shabby from much
wearing, but in his round, clean-shaven face, pink with health and
inward cheer, was smiling serenity, and in his eyes a twinkle that
yielded not to time or circumstance.
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