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I don’t defend it. But what the deuce! He was human; he was a machine only when on the hunt. Her eyes were lit with mirth, the corners of her mouth quivered. But I will go. I kept them on myself till the sight of your empty chair and the chill loneliness of it all nearly sent me mad. Was there anything at all in those locked rooms of her aunt’s mind? Were they fully furnished and only a little dusty and cobwebby and in need of an airing, or were they stark vacancy except, perhaps, for a cockroach or so or the gnawing of a rat? What was the mental equivalent of a rat’s gnawing? The image was going astray. Gray and tranquil world! Amazing, passionless world! A world in which days without meaning, days in which “we don’t want things to happen” followed days without meaning—until the last thing happened, the ultimate, unavoidable, coarse, “disagreeable. ‘For once, you’re talking like a sensible man. It filled his thoughts for the rest of the day, and became an obsession.
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