The old gods being dead he sought new
gods.
In the meantime he sat in his house facing his wife, losing himself in the
books recommended to him years before by Janet, thinking his own thoughts.
Often in the evening he would look up from his book or from his
preoccupied staring at the fire to find her eyes looking at him.
"Talk, Sam; talk," she would say; "do not sit there thinking."
Or at another time she would come to his room at night and putting her
head down on the pillow beside his would spend hours planning, weeping,
begging him to give her again his love, his old fervent, devoted love.
This Sam tried earnestly and honestly to do, going with her for long walks
when the new call, the business had begun to make to him, would have kept
him at his desk, reading aloud to her in the evening, urging her to shake
off her old dreams and to busy herself with new work and new interests.
Through the days in the office he went in a kind of half stupor. An old
feeling of his boyhood coming back to him, it seemed to him, as it had
seemed when he walked aimlessly through the streets of Caxton after the
death of his mother, that there remained something to be done, an
accounting to be made.
Pages:
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308