How I wanted to thank him!
The company had been too much for me; it became too much for him. Soon I saw him cast about for a retreat.... For a second his eyes glided over me, I alarmed him as he had alarmed me. Then he slunk away, with the same crushed, crestfallen manner that I must have had.
He walked off ... the curtain of palms ... he disappeared.
By fits and starts the nightmare returned, clutching me with clammy tentacles. The noise fell in slabs, the weight on my chest suffocated me. Through a mist phantoms glided by, exchanging absurd bows, disjointed gestures, and disconnected remarks. A woman in a spangled gown with hair like flaxen wood-shavings turned and showed a chalky face. Others followed her, branded with painted red smiles. They were all hurrying. Refreshments were being served under the rotunda. The subdued clash of silver against glass sounded along with the clatter of china, little exclamations, and the shuffling of feet.
I am dreaming. Impossible that a gathering of human beings should be such an outrage on life, such a parody of it. When living persons come together and have attired themselves beautifully, it is for the interchange of what is best in them, not for the spilling of gall and the raising of a hubbub. I must be dreaming.
Little groups were coming back; women's laughter cut the curdled air like sharp lashes.
Again I made a painful effort and rose. With the looks of the women riddling me and paralyzed by the men's attention, I crossed the room driven by a force that operated for me. I found myself beside him.
He raised his eyes slowly. Did he smile? I no longer know. But he looked—as I must have looked—as though he were gazing into light.