He would be just as he was now. He pulled the vest off over his head
and continued to stare at himself. It was as though he were looking at
some one else's body. The long toes, the strong legs, the thick thighs,
the broad hairless chest, the stout red neck--and then those eyes, surely
not his, those strange ironical eyes! He passed his hand down his side and
felt the cool strong marble of his flesh. Then suddenly he was cold and he
hurried into his night-shirt and his dressing-gown.
He sat on his bed. Something deep down in him was struggling to come up.
Some thought...some feeling...some name. Falk! It was as though a bell
were ringing, at a great distance, in the sleeping town--but ringing only
for him. Falk! The pain, the urgent pain, crept closer. Falk! He got up
from his bed, opened his door, looked out into the dark and silent house,
stepped forward, carefully, softly, his old red dressing-gown close about
him, stumbling a little on the stairs, feeling the way to his study door.
He sat in his arm-chair huddled up. "Falk! Falk! Oh, my boy, my boy, come
back, come back! I want you, I want to be with you, to see you, to touch
you, to hear your voice! I want to love you!
"Love--Love! I never wanted love before, but now I want it, desperately,
desperately, some one to love me, some one for me to love, some one to be
kind to.
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