The woman--who had stood, frozen with horror, her eyes fixed upon the face
of the dying man, as though under a dreadful spell--cowered before him,
livid with fear. Cringing, helpless--as though before some infernal
monster--she hid her face; while her husband, struggling for breath to
make her hear, called her every foul name he could master--derided her
with fiendish glee--mocked her, taunted her, cursed her--with words too
vile to print. With an oath and a profane wish for her future upon his
lips, the end came. The sensual mouth opened--the diseased wasted limbs
shuddered--the insane light in the lust-worn eyes went out.
With a scream, Mrs. Taine sank unconscious upon the floor beside the bed.
From the lower part of the house came the faint sounds of the few
remaining revelers.
* * * * *
When Aaron King and Conrad Lagrange left the house on Fairlands Heights
that night, they walked quickly, as though eager to escape from the
brilliantly lighted vicinity. Neither spoke until they were some distance
away. Then the novelist, checking his quick stride, pointed toward the
shadowy bulk of the mountains that heaved their mighty crests and peaks in
solemn grandeur high into the midnight sky.
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