His lips moved with guttural complaint:
“God! what an awakening! what an awakening!... What strange destiny arranges it all?... The coming of this thing has haunted me for nights.... There seems to come into our lives a day when we awake of a sudden from the aimless inconsequences of years—to the aimlessness. But—God! what an awakening!”
Anthony Baddlesmere went to him and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder:
“It is something to have awakened, Paul.”
There was a long silence. The miserable man, his face between his hands, thus crouching there, elbows on knees, gazed at the strange things that wove themselves into the pattern at his feet.
He roused again:
“There will always be this dead man in my house,” he said hoarsely.
Baddlesmere sighed sadly:
“I fear it,” said he.
Paul Pangbutt was silent for awhile.