d toward the
glittering pyramids of glasses, and for a fraction of time they seemed
to shift in unison a foot to the right, returning immediately to their
original position with a jerk. Then he rose, and went toward the door,
catching sight of his face in a mirror as he passed. It was very pale,
and he crinkled his nose at it derisively, and then smiled at the
whimsical oddity of his reflected expression. On the threshold he
paused, looking toward the west, blazing with the red and saffron of the
departed sun.

"Oof!" he said, with a downward tug at his waistcoat. "It comes quickly.
That's what it is to be out of practice."

He dined alone in a corner of an unfrequented restaurant, eating little,
but drinking steadily, absinthe at first, then whiskey, four
half-goblets of it, barely diluted with water. Then he found himself
once more in the streets, now brilliantly lighted, going on and on
without purpose, save when the blazing colored glass of a saloon swerved
him from his path. He knew that he was walking steadily, avoiding
obstacles as if by instinct, stepping from and on to kerbs without any
actual perception of them. Faces swam past him, staring. Men,
particularly those at the bars he leaned against, were talking loudly,
but, as it seemed to him, brilliantly. He often smiled involuntarily,
and sometimes spoke to one of them, drank with him, and presently was
alone again, walking on and on. Occasionally a white-faced clock bulged
at him out of the night; and then he noticed that time was galloping. It
was close upon one when he found himself in a quarter which his recent
employment had made familiar--the neighborhood of the Rathbawne Mills.

Here, suddenly, his mind emerged from a mist, and every detail of his
surroundings stood out sharp and clear-cut. The street was
insufficiently illuminated, but the light of a full moon cut across the
buildings on one side, half way between roof and sidewalk. Cavendish
perceived, with a kind of dull surprise, that the pavements were
thronged, and that almost every window framed a figure or two. A hoarse
murmur pulsed in the air, and his quickened ear was greeted on every
side by foul jests and grumbled oaths, broken now and again by drunken
imprecations, scuffles, or the shrill invective of women invisible in
the throng. Once a girl touched his arm, and he found her face close to
his, thin, haggard, and imploring. He shook her off, and turned
unsteadily into the doorway of a