He pictured himself visiting the girl in this shabby little home of her aunt’s—she had told him that it was shabby—and he recalled that delicious little smile with which she would surely greet him, a smile which seemed to be a matter of the eyes as well as the lips. “He dissembles,” he said. This obstacle, which appeared to preclude the possibility of egress in that quarter, was speedily got rid of. But I know very well that that word will never be spoken. Still, his conscience was partly satisfied. Many’s the bullets I’ve dug out of fellows in my time. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.
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