The Loom of Destiny
It was a huge piece of chocolate cake.
The boy shrank back as though Weston had struck him with her hand. He flushed hot and cold, and cowered, vaguely feeling that Weston knew everything and was playing a cruel joke on him.
But there was nothing but kindly surprise in Weston's eyes.
"Why, Russell, dear, it's chocolate!"
Russell neither spoke nor raised his eyes. There was a choking lump in his throat, and to hide a sudden gush of tears he slipped away from the table and went sullenly up to his bedroom.
That night there was no sleep for Russell Wentworth Russell. For three long hours he turned and twisted in his brass cot, with the awful secret eating his heart out. He was a thief, a thief, a thief! The darkness seemed to scream it at him, and the laughing night seemed to know. In a rage of grief he smote his pillow with his arms and groaned under his breath, until he could stand it no longer. Somebody, somebody must be told.
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