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ws. Why not go below and buy the latest novel? The suggestion fairly sickens the man. He did not know he was so nervous. To read ror pastime while a great city is filled with his obsequies--he cannot do it! There is but one course--to read the rules, to study the history of the door until it reaches the stage of suicide--ah! to feel in one's pockets! That is it! That is it! David Lockwin cons his bank-book. He opens his worn letters---letters to the Hon. David Lockwin. He grows timid as he descends into the vale of despair. Why did he do it? These details of the electoral campaign seem trivial now. Easy difficulties! He reaches the last letter of the packet. Marvelous that he should wait to unseal it until an hour so fraught with need! It is Esther's letter--probably some cold missive such as she wrote during their courtship and engagement. David Lockwin is beginning to love his wife as a dog worships its master. He looks to her for safety. He wants to think of her as she is now--a sincere mourner for a dead friend, husband and protector; a superior being, capable of pity for David Lockwin. "Is it wise to read it?" he asks in a dread. "But why should I not be generous? Why should I not love her--as I do love her? God forgive me! I do love her! I love her though she smite me now--cold, cold Esther!" The man is crying. He cannot hear the banqueters. He has at last escaped from their world. His hands shake and he unseals the letter, careful to the last that no part of the envelope be torn. He will read the cold letter. Cold, cold Esther! He kisses the envelope again and again. The sheets are drawn from the inclosure. She never wrote at such length before. He scans the first page. His face grows cold with the old look of disappointment. He wishes he had not read. He turns to the next page. The text changes in tone. There succeeds a warmth that heats the heart aglow. David Lockwin passes his hands across his eyes. He is dazed. He reads on: "Come back to me, my darling, and see how happy we shall be! Let the politics go--that killed Davy and makes us all so unhappy. You were created for something nobler. Let us go to Europe once more. Let's seek the places where we have met in the past." How much more of this can David Lockwin endure? His temples rise and grow blood-red. The gas seems to give no light. He reads like a man of short sight. His eyes kiss the s
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