The Survivor by E. Phillips Oppenheim — Read

The completion of Douglas Jesson's novel was the principal event of the following week. There had come no word from Emily de Reuss, nor had Douglas himself sought her. Better, he told himself, to face his suffering like a man, grapple with it once and for all, than to become even as Drexley and those others, who had never found strength to resist. She was beautiful, magnetic, fascinating, and he loved her; on the other hand there was his self-respect and the strength of his manhood. He was young, he had courage and a career -- surely the battle would go for him. But the days which followed were weary and the nights were pitiless.

He finished his novel, doggedly and conscientiously. The great publishing house who had been waiting for it had pledged themselves to produce it within a month, and Douglas was everywhere pursued with little bundles of proofs requiring immediate attention. These and his work at the _Courier_ kept him fairly occupied during the day, but the night time was fast becoming a season of terror. He tried theatres, music halls, the club -- all vainly. For there were always the silent hours before the dawn, when distraction was impossible -- hours when he lay with hot, wide-open eyes and looked back upon that little scene -- saw Emily with her hands outstretched towards him, and that new light upon her face, heard her changed tone, saw the wonderful light in her eyes, felt the thrilling touch of her lips.