It was comforting to have her there, snoring gently. "It is too late. She mentioned, with familiar respect, Christ and Buddha and Shelley and Nietzsche and Plato. Before Wood had time to inquire into the cause of this sound, his attention was diverted by a man, who rushed past the entry with the swiftness of desperation. His assistance came too late. She interrupted. As soon as the cavalcade stopped, the sexton advanced, and, ringing a handbell, pronounced the following admonition. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. There one is! The same stuff still! One has a craving in one’s blood, a craving roused, cut off from its redeeming and guiding emotional side. Ask your own conscience. He wanted to know what the joke against him was—if any. “He and I don’t seem to get on at all with our fellow-guests, as Mrs.
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