"Dot—"
"Go way," she said coldly. "What? Why?"
"I don't want just words. If that's all you have for me you'd better go."
"Why, Dot—"
"What's death to me is just a lot of words to you. You put 'em together so pretty."
"I'm sorry. I was talking about you, Dot."
"Go way from here."
He approached her with arms outstretched, but she held him away.
"You don't want me to go with you," she said evenly; "maybe you're going to meet that—that girl—" She could not bring herself to say wife. "How do I know? Well, then, I reckon you're not my fellow any more. So go way."
For a moment, while conflicting warnings and desires prompted Anthony, it seemed one of those rare times when he would take a step prompted from within. He hesitated. Then a wave of weariness broke against him. It was too late—
