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Haggard, H. Rider (Henry Rider), 1856-1925

"Dawn"

It is not only a
folly, it is a crime, and, like most crimes, for this life, an
irretrievable mistake.
Long before he got back to London, the first unwholesome exaltation of
mind that always follows a great misfortune, and which may perhaps be
compared with the excitement that for awhile covers the shameful sense
of defeat in an army, had evaporated, and he began to realize the
crushing awfulness of the blow which had fallen on him, and to fear
lest it should drive him mad. He looked round his little horizon for
some straw of comfort at which to catch, and could find none; nothing
but dreadful thoughts and sickening visions.
And then suddenly, just as he was sinking into the dulness of despair,
there came, like the fist gleam of light in chaotic darkness, the
memory of Mildred Carr. Truly she had spoken prophetically. His idol
had been utterly cast down and crushed to powder by a hand stronger
than his own. He would go to her in his suffering; perhaps she could
find means to comfort him.
When he reached town he took a hansom and went to look for some rooms;
he would not return to those he had left on the previous afternoon,
for the sympathetic landlord had helped him to pack up the wedding
clothes and had admired the wedding gift.


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