You must think of this evening, John, sometimes—as a sort of atonement. The latch came with a weak click. Only after he had pushed himself completely inside was the friction lessened. That paper must be signed, or I take my departure. During the previous night he had been restless; and in the lonely dragging hours his thoughts had raced in an endless circle—action without progress. He wiped the sweat from his chin and forehead. The father was a madman.
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