"I'm shutting
him out of the business of my life. You understand?"
"You mean--" She paused.
"He's taken his course, let him stick to it. I'm taking my course, and
I'll stick to it."
She came close and reached out a faltering hand. "John, don't do what
you'll be sorry for."
"I never have."
"When Fabian was born, you remember what you said? You said: 'Life's
worth living now.'"
"Yes, but what did I say when Carnac was born?"
"I didn't hear, John," she answered, her face turning white.
"Well, I said naught."
CHAPTER XII
CARNAC SAYS GOOD-BYE
Fabian Grier's house was in a fashionable quarter of a fashionable
street, the smallest of all built there; but it was happily placed,
rather apart from others, at the very end of the distinguished promenade.
Behind it, a little way up the hill, was a Roman Catholic chapel.
The surroundings of the house were rural for a city habitation. Behind it
were commendable trees, from one of which a swing was hung. In a corner,
which seemed to catch the sun, was a bird-cage on a pole, sought by
pigeons and doves. In another corner was a target for the bow and
arrow-evidence of the vigorous life of the owners of the house.
On the morning after Carnac told his mother he was going away, the doors
of the house were all open.
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