just the same, even if she did think that it was some other woman."
The stable began to acquire for him a horrid fascination, so powerful that he could no longer stay away from it. He had to return, to see the place with his eyes, to see the tell-tale cups and plates. Perhaps (he thought) some miracle had happened. Old Hennery might have removed them after he left, or perhaps he had himself washed them and put them away in the harness-closet without remembering it. Such a thing could happen. . . . In all the tragedy, all the confusion, the ecstasy of those few hours, he might have done it, without knowing what he did. Or afterwards, in all the stress of what had happened, he might have forgotten. Such things had been known to occur, he told himself, such lapses in the working of a brain. There were, after all, moments of late when he was not certain of what was happening—whether he was alive or dead, or whether Naomi had really killed herself, praying by the side of that wretched bed. . . .
But immediately he said, "I'm a fool. I'm like my father. I'm not thinking of what did happen, but what I wish had happened. It's like his story of losing his memory."
When the old negress Molly returned from marketing, he gave her the twins and went off like a madman to the stable. He traversed the area of the Mills, passed Hennessey's place, and entered the dead park, but when he came to the stable, it took all his courage to enter.
He climbed the creaking stairs with his eyes closed, groping his way until he stood at the top. Then he opened them and looked about.
