The acid of this incertitude had disintegrated his nerve; and in Canton had come the smash. He drew a little breath and stepped back. Clotilde announced that she would not be back and she was taking Fritz and Anna forever. “My wife refused absolutely to have anything more to do with me. The road which wound by Westbourne Green, gave him a full view of the hill of Hampstead with its church, its crest of houses, and its villas peeping from out the trees. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. "Had I not been the guilty wretch I am," he cried, bursting into an agony of tears, "she would never have died thus. ” He said wistfully.
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