reality
should
lose its
edge kept
him rooted
to his
seat as
the
minutes
succeeded
each
other. He
sat for a
long time
on the
bench in
the
thickening
dusk, his
eyes never
turning
from the
balcony.
At length
a light
shone
through
the
windows,
and a
moment
later a
man-servant
came out
on the
balcony,
drew up
the
awnings,
and closed
the
shutters.
At that,
as if it
had been
the signal
he waited
for,
Newland
Archer got
