In this agitation of his soul he could keep still no more than he could
last night in the agitation of his senses; and he wandered into the
dining-room. A dainty supper was set out there, sandwiches, and cake,
whisky and the cigarettes--even an early peach. Mr. Bosengate looked at
this peach with sorrow rather than disgust. The perfection of it was of
a piece with all that had gone before this new and sudden feeling. Its
delicious bloom seemed to heighten his perception of the hedge around
him, that hedge of the things he so enjoyed, carefully planted and
tended these many years. He passed it by uneaten, and went to the
window. Out there all was darkening, the fountain, the lime tree, the
flower-beds, and the fields below, with the Jersey cows who would
come to your call; darkening slowly, losing form, blurring into soft
blackness, vanishing, but there none the less--all there--the hedge of
his possessions. He heard the door of the drawing-room open, the voices
of his wife and the governess in the hall, going up to bed. If only they
didn't look in here! If only! The voices ceased. He was safe now--had
but to follow in a few minutes, to make sure of Kathleen alone.
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