He rose suddenly in a frenzy, striking
out, rushing about his room, crying . . . then at last, exhausted,
creeping back to his bed, falling down upon it and sinking into a
long dreamless sleep.
They found him sleeping when they came to call him and they left
him. He did not wake until the early afternoon; his brain seemed
clear and his body so weak that it was with the greatest difficulty
that he washed and put on some clothes.
The room was dark with the fog; lamps in the street below glimmered
uncertainly, and voices and the traffic of the street were muffled.
He opened his door and, looking out, heard in the room below
Martin's voice raised excitedly. Slowly he went down to meet him.
Martin also had reached, on that last day of the year, the very end
of his tether. During the last ten days he had been fighting against
every weakness to which his character was susceptible. With the New
Year he felt that everything would be well; he could draw a new
breath then, find work somewhere away from London, have Maggie
perhaps with him, and drive a way out of all the tangle of his
perplexities. But even then he did not dare to face the future
thoroughly.
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