throwing up the window, he drank in the Spring breeze, and stared at the city he once had thought so alluring. Somehow it looked like the swamp, only less beautiful; he stretched his arms and his lips breathed‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚ÄúZora!‚Äù
He turned hastily to his desk and looked at the other piece of mail‚ÅÝ‚Äîa single sealed note carefully written on heavy paper. He did not recognize the handwriting. Then his mind flew off again. What would they say if he failed to get the office? How they would silently hoot and jeer at the upstart who suddenly climbed so high and fell. And Carrie Wynn‚ÅÝ‚Äîpoor Carrie, with her pride and position dragged down in his ruin: how would she take it? He writhed in soul. And yet, to be a man; to say calmly, ‚ÄúNo‚Äù; to stand in that great audience and say, ‚ÄúMy people first and last‚Äù; to take Carrie‚Äôs hand and together face the world and struggle again to newer finer triumphs‚ÅÝ‚Äîall this would be very close to attainment of the ideal. He found himself staring at the little letter. Would she go? Would she, could she, lay aside her pride and cynicism, her dainty ways and little extravagances? An odd fancy came to him: perhaps the answer to the riddle