I could not have committed this robbery. "My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring. It was a night well-fitted to their enterprise, calm, still, and profoundly dark. It was John Diedermayer, who had been transformed into a young scholar with a large pair of wire-rimmed eyeglasses on. Sometimes he was obviously irritable and uncomfortable and unfortunate in his efforts to seem at ease. She turned with an effort. He was a thin old man, a wreck in a ruined body, but nothing would induce him to stand in any other way than as stiffly erect as possible like the soldier he had always been, even though he was obliged to lean on his silver-handled cane to do so. She rose, paid her bill, and turned westwards.
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