"Ten thousand pardons," I exclaimed, springing forward. But she
had anticipated my intention. We remained staring into the fire
and saying nothing. As she professed to be tired I went away
early.
At the front door of the mansions, finding I had left my umbrella
behind, I remounted the stairs, and rang Judith's bell. After a
while I saw her figure through the ground-glass panel approach
the door, but before she opened it, she turned out the light in
the passage.
"Marcus!" she cried, rather excitedly; and in the dimness of the
threshold her eyes looked strangely accusative of tears. "You
have come back!"
"Yes," said I, "for my umbrella."
She looked at me for a moment, laughed, clapped her hands to her
throat, turned away sharply, caught up my umbrella, and putting
it into my hands and thrusting me back shut the door in my face.
In great astonishment I went downstairs again. What is wrong
with Judith? She said this evening that all men are cruel. Now,
I am a man. Therefore I am cruel. A perfect syllogism.
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