Bruce had been going the pace that kills--yes, Roger had often thought of it.

But that had nothing to do with this! If Bruce had died at fifty, say, as a result of the life he had chosen, the fierce exhausting city which he had loved as a man will love drink, then at least there would have been some sense of fairness in it all! If the town had let him alone till his time! But to be knocked down by an automobile! The devilish irony of it! No reason--nothing! Just hideous luck! Well, life was like that.

As for Edith and her children, he would be glad to have them here.

Only, it would be different, the house would have to change again.

He was sorry, too, for Deborah.