The fog lifted after a minute,
but it left him queerly remote from her, from the cool room with its
scents and shadows, and from all the objects which, a moment before, had
so sharply impinged upon his senses. It was as though he looked at it
all through a rain-blurred pane, against which his hand would strike if
he held it out to her...
That impression passed also, and he found himself thinking how tired he
was and how little anything mattered. He recalled the unfinished piece
of work on his desk, and for a moment had the odd illusion that it was
there before him...
She exclaimed: "But are you going?" and her exclamation made him aware
that he had left his seat and was standing in front of her... He fancied
there was some kind of appeal in her brown eyes; but she was so dim and
far off that he couldn't be sure of what she wanted, and the next moment
he found himself shaking hands with her, and heard her saying something
kind and cold about its having been so nice to see him...
Half way up the stairs little Paul, shining and rosy from supper, lurked
in ambush for his evening game. Ralph was fond of stooping down to let
the boy climb up his outstretched arms to his shoulders, but to-day, as
he did so, Paul's hug seemed to crush him in a vice, and the shout
of welcome that accompanied it racked his ears like an explosion of
steam-whistles. The queer distance between himself and the rest of the
world was annihilated again: everything stared and glared and clutched
him.
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