Henry Handel Richardson

“ He had no sympathy with those people, who, doing what he was about to do, left ragged ends behind them. His mind had always inclined to law and order. And so, having written a note authorising Frau Krause to keep his books and clothes, in place of the outstanding rent, he put a match to the fire which was laid in the stove, and, on his knees before it, burnt all such personal trifles as had value for himself alone. He postponed, to the last, even handling the small packet made up of the letters he had had from Louise. ”

“ The day had again set in brilliantly; the shadows on roads and pavements had real depth, and the outlines of the houses were hard against a cloudless sky. He kept his eyes fixed on the ground; for the crudeness of the light made them ache. ”

“ One of the women began to beat the sofa; under cover of the blows, which reverberated through the house, he slunk away. But he did not get far: when he was recalled to himself by a new noise in one of the upper storeys, he found that he was standing on the bottom step of the stairs, holding fast to the round gilt ball that surmounted the last post of the banisters. He moved from there to the warmth of the house-door, and, for some time before going out, stood sunning himself, a forlorn figure, with eyes that blinked at the light. He felt very cold, and weak to the point of faintness. ”

“ A minute or two later came Louise. At her side was a pianist with whom Schilsky had given a concert earlier in the week—a shabbily dressed young man, with a world of enthusiasm in his candid blue eyes. He, too, was talking with animation. But Louise had no attention for anyone but her husband.
“Well, not my taste . . . I must confess,” laughed the man who had been severe on suicide. “Fine eyes, if you like—but give me something fresher.”
She was wearing a long cloak. The door, in swinging to, caught an end of this, and hindered her progress. Both she and her companion stooped to free it ”

“ His first business was obviously to eat a meal. Fighting a growing dizziness, he trudged into the town, and, having pawned his watch, went to a restaurant, and forced himself to swallow the meal that was set before him—though there were moments when it seemed incredible that it was actually he who plied knife and fork. He would have been glad to linger for a time, after eating, but the restaurant was crowded, and the waiter openly impatient for him to be gone. As he rose, he saw the man flicking the crumbs off the cloth, and setting the table anew ”

“ His eyes fell on the back of a woman, who was sitting in front of one of the windows, doing her hair. In her hand she held a pair of curlingtongs, and, before her, on the foot-end of the sofa, a hand-glass was propped up. Her hair was thick and blond. She wore a black silk chemise, which had slipped low on her plump shoulders; a shabby striped petticoat was bound round her waist, and her naked feet were thrust into down-trodden, felt shoes. Maurice lay still, in order that she should not suspect his being awake. ”

“ An English chap shot himself on her account.”
“You don’t say!” drawled his companion. “It’s a queer thing, how common suicide’s getting to be. You can’t pick up a noospaper, nowadays, without finding some fool or other has blown his brains out.”
“Look out!—here they come.”
Behind the thick glass doors, Schilsky became visible. He was talking volubly to a Jewish-looking stranger in a fur-lined coat. His hat was pushed far back on his forehead ”

“ The others had got into one of the droschkes that waited in line beside the building. The dark stranger put an impatient head out of the window. The two behind quickened their steps; the young man helped Louise in, mounted himself, and slammed the door. ”