As he spoke they emerged from the dripping woods on to the road, and the walking became easier.
“Don’t you want to get somewhere, to do something worthwhile before you die?” she asked looking pityingly into the young face so white and set in the lantern rays.
His lips curled.
“Get somewhere! Do something! That is meaningless jargon. There is really no goal, no destination. We merely fool ourselves into thinking there is. Work is only a drug, a means of forgetting. A good drug, I admit, and at times even heady, but a drug, nevertheless!”
Her hold upon his arm tightened.
“Oh, how unhappy you must be! How sorry I am for you!” she cried with unmistakable sincerity. “Do tell me what is the matter. I am sure I could help you. You’re so young, you probably exaggerate.” She caught herself up for fear of wounding him. “I mean I’m older than you.”
She held her hand out pleadingly towards him.
He clasped it in his long fingers.
“Thank you,” he replied more quietly, “I believe you mean it, but I cannot, indeed I cannot!”
She did not urge, and they walked on in silence. The rain had stopped so gradually, that neither of them remembered when it had ceased to fall. Presently, they turned a bend in the road and came upon lights close at hand.