Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. John picked it up and put it in her hands. “It is a night of endings,” she murmured to herself. I never intended it to be anything but a short story, for I had never completed even the shortest of stories unless forced to in grammar school. “I do not like to seem inhospitable, Anna,” she said hesitatingly. The season was ripe for mating, she thought to herself bitterly. “After all, there are great things left in the world for you. I wish to rise in the world, mademoiselle, and you are going to help me. You have grown into my life. I shall quit this roof to-morrow.
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