“I suppose I ought to congratulate you,” he said. There was one verse that haunted and mocked her. Rain pounded the tin roof, and waterfalls obscured the pavilion into its own private 91 chamber. You have been going out every morning, and coming home late—tired out—too tired to come down to dinner. “I did it for love of you,” he said. But all of that was forgotten. Cathy stood in the bedroom hallway in her faded blue bathrobe. He wanted to become a millionaire. He then unfolded his choice and held it before her face. And were you to load me with thrice the weight of iron you have ordered you should not prevent my escaping a third time. A stout wooden shutter, opening inwardly, being removed, disclosed a grating of iron bars.
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