He had followed her out into the hall. "Working
so hard, liebchen?" he said--and was it not wistfully? Perhaps he had not
felt like work himself and had wanted her to stay at home with him. It
hurt cruelly to think Karl might not understand her willingness to be
away from him so much.
His presence was always with her in the laboratory. The days brought a
very clear picture of Karl at work there, a new understanding of his
adjustment to his work, firmer comprehension of his love for it. Often a
sense of the terribleness and wrongness of his disaster would rush over
her, crowding her heart with the old rebellion and bitterness. Again and
again she lived through the hour Karl had spent there alone, facing the
truth, and then a horror of those things with which she worked, those
awful things which had destroyed Karl's eyes, would take hold of her as a
physical fear, a repulsion, almost impossible to fight.
She was constantly brought to see the difference between him and these
other men; every hour she spent there brought deeper appreciation of
Karl's greatness, clearer sense of it.
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