"I--I'm sorry for him." Kenny groaned and set his teeth.
"I think," said Hughie, "he wants to apologize.

He wrote you a note this morning and tore it up.

And when I put his brandy bottle on his chair to-night he flung it at my head." "I'll go this once," said Kenny.

"But, so help me Heaven, I'll never go again!" He went dully up the stair, cursing the blossom storm.

Its monotonous patter on the roof had inspired Adam Craig to his first plea of loneliness; it had left Kenny himself with a haunting memory of drab solitude, pain and melancholy that seeped with a dripping sound into his very marrow; and it had begun for him the singular thraldom, inspired by pity, that he could not bring himself to understand.
Hughie had left the door of Adam's room ajar.