Aleta had gone down to hearten her friend from these
dolors. And he recalled, with a desperate, tearing remorse, a
casual-enough remark of Norah's: "You always cheer me up, Frank, when
you come to see me."
He recalled, as well, her comment, months before, that she would awake
from her dream in one way or another. Well, she had fulfilled her
promise. God grant, he thought passionately, that the awakening had been
in a happier world.
At six o'clock he went to Aleta's apartment. She had not yet arrived but
presently she came. He saw that she had been crying. She could
scarcely speak.
"Frank, let us walk somewhere," she said. "I can't go upstairs; it's too
full of memories. And I can't sit still. I've got to keep moving--fast."
They strode off together, taking a favorite walk through the Presidio
toward the Beach. From a hill-top they saw the Exposition buildings
rising from what once had been a slough.
Aleta paused and looked down.
"It's easier to bear--up here," she spoke in an odd, weary monotone, as
if she were thinking aloud. "This morning ... I think, if Norah had left
anything in the bottle ... I'd have taken it, too."
"Why did she do it?" Frank asked quickly.
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