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Whirligigs by O. Henry
page 33 of 303 (10%)
utter now; but out of politeness, I will speak of him as a third
person. For five years he made his wife lead the life of a dog--No;
I'll take that back. No dog in Kentucky was ever treated as she
was. He spent the money that she brought him--spent it at races, at
the card table and on horses and hunting. He was a good fellow to
his friends, but a cold, sullen demon at home. He wound up the five
years of neglect by striking her with his closed hand--a hand as
hard as a stone--when she was ill and weak from suffering. She
died the next day; and he skipped. That's all there is to it. It's
enough. I never saw Williams; but I knew his wife. I'm not a man to
tell half. She and I were keeping company when she met him. She
went to Louisville on a visit and saw him there. I'll admit that he
spoilt my chances in no time. I lived then on the edge of the
Cumberland mountains. I was elected sheriff of Chatham County a year
after Wade Williams killed his wife. My official duty sends me out
here after him; but I'll admit that there's personal feeling, too.
And he's going back with me. Mr.--er--Reeves, will you pass me a
match?

"Awfully imprudent of Williams," said Morgan, putting his feet up
against the wall, "to strike a Kentucky lady. Seems to me I've heard
they were scrappers."

"Bad, bad Williams," said Reeves, pouring out more Scotch.

The two men spoke lightly, but the consul saw and felt the tension
and the carefulness in their actions and words. "Good old fellows,"
he said to himself; "they're both all right. Each of 'em is standing
by the other like a little brick church."

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