The Other Who Returned
badly cut up, later with comparative ease and rapidity. That his helplessness was worse to him than the bitterness of death, Merritt knew unerringly. Of this Deane never spoke, but his face, when he failed in some erstwhile easy task, all unconsciously betrayed him. Continually he was restless, ill at ease, yet striving doggedly to get himself in hand. Merritt began to notice in him a desire for companionship, especially towards nightfall; noticed with opened eyes that Deane kept himself always near a group of men, even though he sat silent, taking no part in their talk. Twice, Merritt, going late at night cautiously to his tent to see that he wanted nothing, found it empty. At first this frightened him, suggesting thoughts of Deane wandering alone in the dark-
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