He did not move, but stayed there watching until she had gone.
Something made him change his clothes. He put on trousers and an old
overcoat and a shabby old clerical hat. He was a long time in his
dressing-room, and he was a while before his looking-glass in his shirt
and drawers, staring as though he were trying to find himself.
While he looked he fancied that some one was behind him, and he searched
for his shadow in the glass, but could find nothing. He moved cautiously
out of the house, closing the heavy hall-door very softly behind him; the
afternoon was advanced, and the faint fair shadows of the summer evening
were stealing from place to place.
He had intended to go at once to Morris's house, but his head was now
aching so violently that he thought he would walk a little first so that
he might have more control. That was what he wanted, self-control! self-
control! That was their plot, to make him lose command of himself, so that
he should show to every one that he was unfit to hold his position. He
must have perfect control of everything--his voice, his body, his
thoughts.
Pages:
573
574
575
576
577
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597