No matter what happened, whether the road smoothed out or became still rougher, he would always be carrying this secret with him; and each time he recalled it, the rack. He went over his interview with her again, their conversation at dinner-time. “Troubles, my friend,” she exclaimed lightly. The ambitions of his life, and they were many, seemed to lie far away, broken up dreams in some outside world where the way was rough and the sky always grey.
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