McTeague began dimly to feel that life was too much for him. How had it
all come about? A month ago he was perfectly content; he was calm and
peaceful, taking his little pleasures as he found them. His life had
shaped itself; was, no doubt, to continue always along these same lines.
A woman had entered his small world and instantly there was discord. The
disturbing element had appeared. Wherever the woman had put her foot a
score of distressing complications had sprung up, like the sudden growth
of strange and puzzling flowers.
"Say, Mac, go on; let's have ut straight," urged Marcus, leaning toward
him. "Has any duck been doing you dirt?" he cried, his face crimson on
the instant.
"No," said McTeague, helplessly.
"Come along, old man," persisted Marcus; "let's have ut. What is the
row? I'll do all I can to help you."
It was more than McTeague could bear. The situation had got beyond
him. Stupidly he spoke, his hands deep in his pockets, his head rolled
forward.
"It's--it's Miss Sieppe," he said.
"Trina, my cousin? How do you mean?" inquired Marcus sharply.
"I--I--I don' know," stammered McTeague, hopelessly confounded.
"You mean," cried Marcus, suddenly enlightened, "that you are--that you,
too.
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