and he hurriedly put out his cigarette, pressing it into the

ash-pan, lit another, and began pacing up and down the room. One

after another the scenes he had lived through with her rose in

his mind. He recalled that last interview with her. He remembered

the white dress and blue sash, the early mass. "Why, I loved her,

really loved her with a good, pure love, that night; I loved her

even before: yes, I loved her when I lived with my aunts the

first time and was writing my composition." And he remembered