THE GIRL IN HIS HOUSE
calmly like a great river, not like a noisy, gay little brook that would suddenly pop into the ground and disappear, nobody knew why or where. He saw the obscurities through which he must go; the whimsical charm of this lovely child-woman, her loneliness and the mystery which enshrouded her. He wasn't sure that her very singular presence in his own home hadn't caused the amazing upheaval of his senses. The picture of her sitting there before the fire returned so vividly, just there in front of him, that he veered a little, actually, for fear he might step into or onto the picture.
"Let's go home!" So long as he lived he would never forget the tone in which she had spoken those magical words.
The long walk solved nothing. The riddle was all around him when he entered the hotel and asked for his key. He was drenched with cold rain, too, and the nap of his silk hat was ruined beyond recall.
He did not see Doris again for three days, though he talked to her once a day over the telephone. He wanted to fight his doubts to a conclusion before he saw her again.
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