Mr Pickering
at that point of the day was generally feeling his best. But to-night
was different from the other nights of his life.
One may picture Subconscious Self as a withered, cynical,
malicious person standing before Mr Pickering and regarding him
with an evil smile. There has been a pause, and now Subconscious
Self speaks again:
'You will have to leave to-morrow. Couldn't possibly stop on after
what's happened. Now you see what comes of behaving like a boy.'
Mr Pickering writhed.
'Made a pretty considerable fool of yourself, didn't you, with
your revolvers and your hidings and your trailings? Too old for
that sort of thing, you know. You're getting on. Probably have a
touch of lumbago to-morrow. You must remember you aren't a
youngster. Got to take care of yourself. Next time you feel an
impulse to hide in shrubberies and take moonlight walks through
damp woods, perhaps you will listen to me.'
Mr Pickering relit the stump of his cigar defiantly and smoked in
long gulps for a while. He was trying to persuade himself that all
this was untrue, but it was not easy. The cigar became uncomfortably
hot, and he threw it away. He fumbled in his waistcoat pocket and
produced a diamond ring, at which he looked pensively.
'A pretty thing, is it not?' said Subconscious Self
Mr Pickering sighed.
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