Sven digital books

"And I won't talk, dear," he said gently; "I'll just rest a little."
She helped him with the chair and for a minute sat there on a low seat
beside him.
"You know, sweetheart," resting her cheek upon his hand, "I don't like
those dark glasses at all. I'll be so glad when you don't have to wear
them."
"Why?" he asked, his voice a little muffled.
"Because they shut me out. I always seem closer to you when I can look
into your eyes.--Oh--does it pain so?" as he drew sharply away.
"That did hurt," he admitted, his voice low. "I--I'd better not talk for
a little, dear."
So she said if there was nothing she could do for his head, she would
leave him while she wrote a couple of letters.
For a long time he sat there without moving. It was the exhaustion which
follows intoxication, for he had indeed intoxicated himself that
afternoon, and with an idea. It had come about so strangely. After they
sat down to dinner, he had been on the point a half a dozen times, of
excusing himself on the plea of a bad headache.


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