Finally he settled himself guiltily in the shadows,
where he could watch those windows, and waited--just for that distant
sight of her. There was a lamp on the table before the window. Before
she retired she would have to come to shut it off. ... He waited for
that. He would then see her for a second, perhaps.
At last she came, and stood an instant in the window--just a blur,
with the light behind her, no feature distinguishable, yet it was
her--her. "Ruth..." he whispered, "Ruth. ..." Then she drew down the
shade and extinguished the light.
For a moment he stood there, hands opened as if he would have
stretched them out toward her. Then he turned and walked heavily
away. He had seen her, but It had not added to his happiness. He had
seen her because he must see her. ... And by that he knew he must see
her again and again and again. He knew it. He knew he would stand
there in the shadows on innumerable nights, watching for that one
brief second of her presence. ... And she loved another man.
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