CHAPTER XIII
關燈
小
中
大
ThelunchhourintheofficewasonlypartlyspentbyDenhamintheconsumptionoffood.Whetherfineorwet,hepassedmostofitpacingthegravelpathsinLincoln’sInnFields.Thechildrengottoknowhisfigure,andthesparrowsexpectedtheirdailyscatteringofbread-crumbs.Nodoubt,sinceheoftengaveacopperandalmostalwaysahandfulofbread,hewasnotasblindtohissurroundingsashethoughthimself.
Hethoughtthatthesewinterdayswerespentinlonghoursbeforewhitepapersradiantinelectriclightandinshortpassagesthroughfog-dimmedstreets.WhenhecamebacktohisworkafterlunchhecarriedinhisheadapictureoftheStrand,scatteredwithomnibuses,andofthepurpleshapesofleavespressedflatuponthegravel,asifhiseyeshadalwaysbeenbentupontheground.Hisbrainworkedincessantly,buthisthoughtwasattendedwithsolittlejoythathedidnotwillinglyrecallitbutdroveahead,nowinthisdirection,nowinthatandcamehomeladenwithdarkbooksborrowedfromalibrary.
MaryDatchet,comingfromtheStrandatlunch-time,sawhimonedaytakinghisturn,closelybuttonedinanovercoat,andsolostinthoughtthathemighthavebeensittinginhisownroom.
Shewasovercomebysomethingverylikeawebythesightofhimthenshefeltmuchinclinedtolaugh,althoughherpulsebeatfaster.Shepassedhim,andheneversawher.Shecamebackandtouchedhimontheshoulder.
“Gracious,Mary!”heexclaimed.“Howyoustartledme!”
“Yes.Youlookedasifyouwerewalkinginyoursleep,”shesaid.“Areyouarrangingsometerribleloveaffair?Haveyougottoreconcileadesperatecouple?”
“Iwasn’tthinkingaboutmywork,”Ralphreplied,ratherhastily.“And,besides,thatsortofthing’snotinmyline,”head
