But St. John could
not sleep at once. If only, he thought to himself, as he lay in the
darkness, something would happen--if only this strain would come to an
end. He did not mind what happened, so long as the succession of these
hard and dreary days was broken; he did not mind if she died. He felt
himself disloyal in not minding it, but it seemed to him that he had no
feelings left.
All night long there was no call or movement, except the opening and
shutting of the bedroom door once. By degrees the light returned into
the untidy room. At six the servants began to move; at seven they crept
downstairs into the kitchen; and half an hour later the day began again.
Nevertheless it was not the same as the days that had gone before,
although it would have been hard to say in what the difference
consisted. Perhaps it was that they seemed to be waiting for something.
There were certainly fewer things to be done than usual. People drifted
through the drawing-room--Mr. Flushing, Mr. and Mrs. Thornbury. They
spoke very apologetically in low tones, refusing to sit down, but
remaining for a considerable time standing up, although the only thing
they had to say was, "Is there anything we can do?" and there was
nothing they could do.
Feeling oddly detached from it all, Terence remembered how Helen had
said that whenever anything happened to you this was how people behaved.
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