"Go to your room.

No more of this! We shall see, soon, who's master of this house!" She was already gone.
Old Flint stood there a moment, listening to her retreating footfalls on the parquetry of the vast hall.

Then, as these died he turned and groped his way, as though blind, back to his chair, and fell in it, and covered his eyes with both his shaking hands.
For a long time he sat there, anguished and crucified amid all that unmeaning luxury and splendor.
At last he rose and with uncertain steps sought his own suite, above-stairs.
Billionaire and world-master though he was, that night he knew his heart lay dead within him.

He realized that all the fruits of life were Dead Sea fruits, withered to dust and ashes on his pale and quivering lips..