A wave of pity went over him—pity for the patient, the girl, and his friend. The destroying angel hurried by, shrouded in his gloomiest apparel. . I worshipped women long before I found any woman I might ever hope to worship. He sat with folded arms and knitted brows, thinking intently. Sometimes they marry well. And in reality even that magic garden-close resolves itself into a villa at Morningside Park and my father being more and more cross and overbearing at meals—and a general feeling of insecurity and futility. But that's an infirmity shared by a great many sounder heads than mine. He had found Spurlock.
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