Explore "A Rogue's Tragedy" by Bernard Capes on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
He bowed to her gravely as she entered. She responded with the iciest salutation. Throughout their interview they both remained standing.
He noticed, with dark ruth, how wan her face had grown, how sharpened from its blunt youthful curves, how prematurely aged even -- like a late-blown lily, shrunk, in its first lovely opening, to a freezing wind. The nearer thereby, the more pathetic, to his own barren passion. He could claim his pallid kinship with this sorrow, as never he might have done with insolent felicity. He was so changed by love, he could have prized dead beauty in this woman above all the living graces of her happier sisters. Had she waned like the moon, his arms had lusted for the last shred of her.