It was six weeks now since Eric had seen one loving face, and during all
that time he had hardly heard one kindly word. And now he saw before him
the boy whom he loved so fondly, with whom he had spent so many happy
hours of school-boy friendship, with whom he had gone through so many
schoolboy adventures, and who, he believed, loved him fondly still.
Forgetful for the moment of his condition, Eric moved across the street.
Wildney was walking with his cousin, a beautiful girl, some four years
older than himself, whom he was evidently patronising immensely. They
were talking very merrily, and Eric overheard the word Roslyn. Like a
lightning-flash the memory of the theft, the memory of his ruin came
upon him; he looked down at his dress--it was a coarse blue shirt, which
Roberts had given him in place of his old one, and the back of it was
stained and saturated with blood from his unhealed wounds; his trousers
were dirty, tarred, and ragged, and his shoes, full of holes, barely
covered his feet.
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