HIS LUCK



  of God and the morality of nature. Perhaps in some
  people they both work together for the same end,
  but they don't always. . . . In the sight of heaven,
  Paul wvas an apostle of harmony. In the sight of
  nature, he was the seed too many on the tree, the
  bird wrongly colored in the forest. I sit among
  these things, the fast-ebbing beats of his memory,
  thinking of what he might have been for others as he
  was to me, and my heart breaks. Our unhappiness
  A cloud passing before the sun-nothing more. And
  during this past year I have come to love him all
  over again, not as mate but as mother.
VERA
  Ah, Jean, with all his bad luck, lhe had vou! Who
  knows what might have happened if you had not been
  there
JEAN
  He had me No, he never had me-he made me.
       And that's why I sit all alone with the things
  that are Paul,-Paul, the flame that was never lit on
  the altar, the sword that was never drawn from the
  scabbard. . . . We talk together, Vera. Paul and
  I. We talk together, and I wait for him to tell ine
  what to do.



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