He found in Florence some of his Roman friends, and went down on
certain evenings to meet them. More than once he asked Mary Garland to
go with him into town, and showed her the things he most cared for. He
had some modeling clay brought up to the villa and deposited in a room
suitable for his work; but when this had been done he turned the key in
the door and the clay never was touched. His eye was heavy and his hand
cold, and his mother put up a secret prayer that he might be induced
to see a doctor. But on a certain occasion, when her prayer became
articulate, he had a great outburst of anger and begged her to know,
once for all, that his health was better than it had ever been. On
the whole, and most of the time, he was a sad spectacle; he looked so
hopelessly idle. If he was not querulous and bitter, it was because he
had taken an extraordinary vow not to be; a vow heroic, for him, a vow
which those who knew him well had the tenderness to appreciate. Talking
with him was like skating on thin ice, and his companions had a constant
mental vision of spots designated "dangerous.
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