He crossed a low rail, walked on a little way toward the water, and then threw himself face downward on the grass. He knew where he was now—in the present time, in a public pleasure-ground. London stretched about the park, and beyond that there was the vast round globe; beyond that again there was the universe; and it seemed to him that, big as it all was, it was not big enough to hold one other man and himself.
When, four or five hours later, he came back to the lodging-house he found his wife dressed and sitting by the bedroom table. She had contrived to wash away nearly all the marks of violence: one noticed only the swollen aspect of the whole face, an inflamed eyebrow, and a cut lip. She looked up meekly and fondly as a thrashed dog.
"Will, have you decided what you will do?"
"No."
Then, while getting together his things and beginning to pack, he told her that he would take his fortnight's leave, as arranged, and carefully consider matters. "And then, at the end of the fortnight, if I'm above ground by that time, I'll let you know what I've decided."
But, on hearing this, she flopped from the chair to her knees, and clung round him just as she had clung when he was first questioning her.
"Will, don't be mad and wicked, and go and take your life."
"Why not? D'you think there's vaarlue in it to me now?"
He spoke quite quietly, but he looked gray, haggard, terrible, his clothes all stained and dirty from his open-air bed.
"Will, for mercy's sake—"