Nearly every other man stopped and spoke to Gobion, and he felt strangely moved to think that he would soon be out of it all and forgotten.
He turned into the stable-yard of the "Bell," and stood there for a moment irresolutely, frowning, and then with a quick movement went into the private bar.
It was quite empty of customers, and a girl sat before the fire with her feet on the fender reading a novel.
She jumped up when Gobion came in, and he put his arm round her waist and kissed her. She was a pretty, fresh-looking girl, and would have been prettier still if she had not so obviously darkened her eyelashes with a burnt hairpin.
Gobion sat down on the chair, and pulled her on to his knee, smiling at her, and puffing rings of cigarette smoke at her.
She settled herself comfortably, leaning back in his arms, and began to rattle away in a rather high-pitched voice about a raid of the proctors the night before.
As is the habit of the more "swagger" sort of barmaid, she used the word "awfully" (with the accent on the aw) once or twice in nearly every sentence, and it was curious to hear how glibly the Varsity slang and contractions slipped from her.
He played with a loose curl of hair, thinking what a pretty little fool she was.
"Maudie dear, I'm going away."
"Do you mean for good?"