THE GIRL IN HIS HOUSE
"No. And so I came back . . . here."
"Where you hatched your abominable crime."
"Abominable. . . . Yet, I divided with you. You are still in comfortable circumstances. You are on the way to become a man"—with an ironical smile.
"But my home—the things I treasured! You robbed me and cheated the other man."
"No doubt I am one of the damned." Bordman spoke as if carefully guarding his voice, his breath. "Let us be calm. Don't excite me. . . . Another hemorrhage and I am done for; and I must make use of my time. . . . Conscience is a strange thing. It drove me; I could not resist it. . . . So here I am."
"I forgive you, Bordman, if that will ease you any."
"You . . . forgive?"
"Yes. Only, you must restore what you took, or what is left of it. What a joke! You rooked me. I ought to curse you, and yet I feel more inclined to bless you."
The old man's lips moved, but no sound came through them.
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