"Love," he said, still looking toward the city, "is a matter of truth, not
lies and pretence."
Suddenly it seemed to him that if he went forward truthfully he should get
even Sue back again some time. His mind lingered over the thoughts of the
loves that come to a man in the world, of Sue in the wind-swept northern
woods and of Janet in her wheel-chair in the little room where the cable
cars ran rumbling under the window. And he thought of other things, of Sue
reading papers culled out of books before the fallen women in the little
State Street hall, of Tom Edwards with his new wife and his little watery
eyes, of Morrison and the long-fingered socialist fighting over words at
his table. And then pulling on his gloves he lighted a cigar and went back
through the crowded streets to his office to do the thing he had
determined on.
At the meeting that afternoon the project went through without a
dissenting voice. Colonel Tom being absent, the two employe directors
voted with Sam with almost panicky haste as Sam looking across at the
well-dressed, cool-headed Webster, laughed and lighted a fresh cigar. And
then he voted the stock Sue had intrusted to him for the project, feeling
that in doing so he was cutting, perhaps for all time, the knot that bound
them.
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