He threw himself upon his
chair-bedstead, and lay for more than an hour in torpor of body
and mind.
But before he could sleep he must eat. Though it was cold, he
could not exert himself to light a fire; there was some food
still in the cupboard, and he consumed it in the fashion of a
tired labourer, with the plate on his lap, using his fingers and
a knife. What had he to do with delicacies?
He felt utterly alone in the world. Unless it were Biffen, what
mortal would give him kindly welcome under any roof? These
stripped rooms were symbolical of his life; losing money, he had
lost everything. 'Be thankful that you exist, that these morsels
of food are still granted you. Man has a right to nothing in this
world that he cannot pay for. Did you imagine that love was an
exception? Foolish idealist! Love is one of the first things to
be frightened away by poverty. Go and live upon your
twelve-and-sixpence a week, and on your memories of the past.'
In this room he had sat with Amy on their return from the wedding
holiday. 'Shall you always love me as you do now?'--'For ever!
for ever!'--'Even if I disappointed you? If I failed?'--'How
could that affect my love?' The voices seemed to be lingering
still, in a sad, faint echo, so short a time it was since those
words were uttered.
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