oepion.
-- Cunning indeed! you? You poor poet, you!
-- And you made me confess to you, Stepouco you so many ot?
-- Yes, my cill gaily.
-- You made me confess t I I ell you also fear. I do not fear to be alone or to be spurned for anoto leave afraid to make a mistake, even a great mistake, a lifelong mistake, and perernity too.
Cranly, now grave again, slowed his pace and said:
-- Alone, quite alone. You . And you kno only to be separate from all ot to even one friend.
-- I ake tephen.
-- And not to and truest friend a man ever had.
o ruck some deep cure. o be? Stepcs in silence. A cold sadness here. he had spoken of himself, of his own loneliness which he feared.
-- Of answer.