The tragic irony of it all numbed him. Fate hadn't played the game

fairly. He was fifty-two, on the far side of the plateau, near sunset.

It wasn't a square deal.

Still he stood there on the sidewalk, like a rock in the middle of a

turbulent stream, rejecting selfish thoughts. Marry Kitty, and tell her

the truth afterward. He knew the blood of her--loyalest of the loyal.

He could if he chose play that sort of game--cheat her. He could not

withdraw his proposition. If she accepted it he would have to carry it

through. Cheat her.




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