The thought of the storekeeper was lost in the
realization of the collapse of all that he had laboriously
planned. The destruction was absolute; not
an inner desire nor need escaped; not a projection
remained. The papers before him, so painfully
comprehended, with such a determination of justice,
were but the visible marks of the futility, the waste,
of his dreaming.

He sank heavily into the chair before his table.
He recalled the younger Entriken's smooth lies, the
debauchery of his money by the Nickles; William
Vibard's accordions mocked him again... all, all,
had been in vain, worthless. General Jackson rose,
and laid his long, shaggy, heavy head upon Gordon's
knee.

"We're done for," he told the dog; "we're finished
this time. Everything has gone to hell."

[[340]]

p339 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p340w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p341

v?