The tragic irony of it all numbed him. Fate hadn't played the game
fairly. He was fifty-two, on the far side of the plateau, near sunset.
It wasn't a square deal.
Still he stood there on the sidewalk, like a rock in the middle of a
turbulent stream, rejecting selfish thoughts. Marry Kitty, and tell her
the truth afterward. He knew the blood of her--loyalest of the loyal.
He could if he chose play that sort of game--cheat her. He could not
withdraw his proposition. If she accepted it he would have to carry it
through. Cheat her.