THE LIFTED BANDAGE

T HE man let himself into his
       front door and, staggering
       lightly, like a drunken man,
as he closed it, walked to the hall
table, and mechanically laid down
his hat, but still wearing his over-
coat turned and went into his library,
and dropped on the edge of a divan
and stared out through the leaded
panes of glass across the room facing
him. The grayish skin of his face
seemed to fall in diagonal furrows,
from the eyes, from the nose, from
the mouth. He sat, still to his
finger-tips, staring.
  He was sitting so when a servant
slipped in and stood motionless a
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