'Eh?'
'I have seen so little of you these last few days. A little while
ago we were always together, having such interesting talks. But
lately it has seemed to me that you have been avoiding me.'
A feeling of helplessness swept over Mr Pickering. He was vaguely
conscious of a sense of being treated unjustly, of there being a
flaw in Claire's words somewhere if he could only find it, but the
sudden attack had deprived him of the free and unfettered use of
his powers of reasoning. He gurgled wordlessly, and Claire went
on, her low, sad voice mingling with the moonlight in a manner
that caused thrills to run up and down his spine. He felt
paralyzed. Caution urged him to make some excuse and follow it
with a bolt to the drawing-room, but he was physically incapable
of taking the excellent advice. Sometimes when you are out in your
Pickering Gem or your Pickering Giant the car hesitates, falters,
and stops dead, and your chauffeur, having examined the carburettor,
turns to you and explains the phenomenon in these words: 'The
mixture is too rich.' So was it with Mr Pickering now. The moonlight
alone might not have held him; Claire's voice alone might not have
held him; but against the two combined he was powerless. The
mixture was too rich. He sat and breathed a little stertorously,
and there came to him that conviction that comes to all of us now
and then, that we are at a crisis of our careers and that the
moment through which we are living is a moment big with fate.
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