you. I couldn't help coming, but if you don't love me at all, if you won't talk to me, what can I do?
He was silent.
Dear Byron, if you ever want me, if you ever need me . . . With a pitiful little cry, she rose and swiftly left the room.
A moment later he heard the closing of the outer door. Then and then only he cried out of the misery in his soul, Mary! Mary! There was no reply. Rushing to the hallway he flung open the outer door. She had disappeared. He did not follow her downstairs. Returning to his room, he knelt before his bed, burying his head in the covers.
Mary, he sobbed, dear little Mary, I do love you, but I can't go back to you until I've proved how much I hate her.
At this moment he made a swift decision and his hand crept slowly toward the object concealed beneath the pillow.
