The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. Papillon would have broken him down; anything tender would have sapped his will; and like as not he would have left the stool and rushed into the night. ’ He bowed and indicated the open door at the back of the hall. She remembered Taber's hat. Still no sound. “Her ladyship dined at home,” the man answered. I once saw a man die after collapsing that way. That is what terrified her: the consciousness that nothing in her life would be continuous, that she would no sooner form friendships (like the present) than relentless fate would thrust her into a new circle.
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