" And then a line he couldn't
remember exactly, containing, for the sake of the rhyme, some total
irrelevancy about the weather, and a sickening bit of false rhyming to
end up with, about loving forever and ever. The jingle of that tune had
kept time to his steps, and the silly words had sung themselves over and
over endlessly in his brain until the mockery of it had become
absolutely excruciating. Except for that damnable tune, there was
nothing in his mind at all. Everything else was synthesized into a dull
ache, a hollow, gnawing, physical ache. But he'd endure that, he
thought, if he could get rid of the diabolical malice of that tune.
Perhaps if he stopped walking and just sat still it would go away.
That's why he went home, let himself in with his latch-key and made his
way furtively to the library, where the embers of last night's fire were
still warm. He had an hour at least before the servants would be
stirring. He was terribly cold and pretty well exhausted, and the
comfort of his big chair and the glow of the fire carried him off
irresistibly into a doze--a doze that was troubled by fantastic dreams.
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