Something--perhaps it was his curious expression as he took himself
off--made me begin to regret. The more I thought of the matter, the less I
thought of my having made any civil concession to a woman who had acted so
badly toward Anita and myself. He had not been gone a quarter of an hour
before I went to Anita in her sitting-room. Always, the instant I entered
the outer door of her part of our house, that powerful, intoxicating
fascination that she had for me began to take possession of my senses. It
was in every garment she wore. It seemed to linger in any place where she
had been, for a long time after she left it. She was at a small desk by the
window, was writing letters.
"May I interrupt?" said I. "Monson was here a few minutes ago--from Mrs.
Langdon. She wants to see me. I told him I would see her here. Then it
occurred to me that perhaps I had been too good-natured. What do you
think?"
I could not see her face, but only the back of her head, and the loose
coils of magnetic hair and the white nape of her graceful neck. As I began
to speak, she stopped writing, her pen suspended over the sheet of paper.
After I ended there was a long silence.
"I'll not see her," said I.
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