Go."
They had returned to the gate ere this. He grasped the hand which she
held out to him, and stood by the little gate watching her till she had
disappeared through the door of the servants' quarters. When the door
closed, he walked slowly away. He had done all that it was possible for
him to do, and now came his worst misery. There was nothing left for him
but to wait the issue of events.
What was he to do? Go home to his lodgings--eat, drink, sleep? Was it
possible for him to eat or to sleep while that precious life trembled in
the balance? He walked slowly along the endless roads and terraces in a
purposeless way. Careless people pushed against him, or he pushed against
them; children brushed past him as they ran. What a noisy, busy,
clattering world it seemed! And she lay dying! O, the droning, dreary
organs, and the hackneyed, common tunes, how excruciating they were to
him to-night!
He emerged into the high road by-and-by, in all the bustle and riot of
Netting Hill. The crowded shops, the clamorous people, seemed strange to
him. It was like the clamour of a foreign city. He walked on past the
bustle and riot, by the quieter terraces near Holland Park, and still
held on to Shepherd's Bush, where he went into a little public-house and
called for some brandy.
There was a bench on one side of the space in front of the bar, and
towards this he pushed his way.
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