"You're walking too quickly, Quinny!" Mary said, holding back.
"I'm sorry, dear," he exclaimed, slackening his pace reluctantly.
He had never had this sensation before ... as if a fear had been stuck on to him, a fear that was not part of his nature, a thing outside him trying to get inside him.... He forgot that Mary had complained of the rapidity with which he was walking, and he set off again. The pine trees had a black, ominous look, and the sound of the wind blowing through their needles was like continuous moaning.
"Are you trying to win a race, Quinny?" Mary said.
He laughed nervously. "No. I'm ... I'm sorry!..."
As they passed the copse, he shut his eyes, and so he stumbled over the rough ground and almost fell.
"What is it, Quinny?" Mary demanded, catching hold of him.
"It's nothing," he said. "I'm tired, that's all...."
7
He shut the door behind him quickly, and fastened the bolts. Mary had gone into the drawing-room, and when he had secured the door, he followed her.