He was attempting to repulse
her, but she held him with a desperation of feeling. The elder descended
the stairs without further speech.
Outside, the warmth of the day had continued into dusk. The mist had
thickened, above which, in a momentary rift, he could see the stars
swimming in removed constellations. He was wrapped in an utter loathing
of the scene through which he had passed, his undeniable part in it. It
was all hideous beyond words. His late need, his sense of void and
illimitable longing, tormented him ceaselessly. He was sick with
rebellion against life, an affair of cunning traps and mud and fog.
Above the obscured and huddled odium of the city the distances were
clear, serene. Above the degradation ... Susan. A tyrannical desire to
see her possessed him, an absolute necessity for the purification of her
mere presence. Unconsciously he quickened his step, charged with
purpose; but he couldn't go to the Academy now; it was six o'clock. He
must delay an hour at least. Habit prompted him to a supper which he
left untried on its plates, the lighting of a cigar, quickly cold,
forgot. At seven he hurried resolutely over the dark streets with the
dim luminosity of occasional gas lamps floating on the unstirring white
gloom.
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