Martin pulled up the rocker in front of his small radio which he turned on softly. There, his head in his hands, he sat and rocked until morning. Then he took a train uptown to Deane’s.
CHAPTER XXV
Roberts woke up with a sticky feeling in his mouth. He felt his wrist. It was still throbbing. With difficulty he repressed a sudden panic brought about by his full consciousness of this last and most horrible link forged in the confused entries of his life. He got up, put his feet in a pair of slippers and went to the mirror. He stuck out his tongue and looked at it carefully. Walking away, he stopped suddenly and glanced over his shoulder at himself. Then he rang for his breakfast and went into the bathroom.
Although he was accustomed to this pale Orient, an atmosphere of mauve with the suggestion of a darker tone enhanced by lights, direct and indirect, it seemed to stimulate him now as though it were a new experience. He took a crystal flagon from its glass shelf and shook the bottle slightly, watching the opalescent liquid as hungrily as though he were going to drink it. Removing the stopper, he closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, shivering; and as an afterthought, carefully shook two drops upon his fingers and rubbed them into his temples. The astonishing scent filled the bathroom and Roberts leaned against the wall as the odor of stable frost arose about him. Slowly, he removed his pajamas, white as his skin, and let them fall around his feet. The warm water from the shower sprayed off his head. He stuck out his tongue again and swallowed a little of the water. It tasted salty and he spat out what was left. After a careless shave he put on a dressing gown of deep red corded silk, and staring vacantly, sat down in front of the coffee table in his living room.
The boy knocked and entered with his breakfast.
“My paper?” Roberts looked up inquiringly.
“Yes, sir. It’s on your tray, sir,” answered the boy.
“That’s right, my lad. Always a paper with one’s eggs.” The adviser laughed sententiously.