l when the small creature in lawn, only the height of his knee, had been torn reluctantly away from its h
security, and the only thing that Peter could grasp was t
hearth brush, but Winn had had to go before Peter was
conclusion that Estelle had a taste for tears, just as some people liked boiled eggs for b
f always seemed to Winn to belong much more to England than to France-so much so that it annoyed him at Boulogne to have to submit to being thought possibly unblasphemous by porters. He began to feel alone. Up till now he had always seen his way. There had been fellows to do things with and animals; even marriage, though disconcerting, had not se
y in a world where everybody observed an unspoken, inviolable code. If people didn't know the ropes, they found it simpler to go, and Winn had sometimes assisted them to find it simpler; but he saw that now bounders could really turn up with impunity, for, as far
hallenged bull-dog, and he stuck his hands in his pockets and looke
to do it to everybody in the hotel it might become monotonous, and
sed there'd be toboggans and skis. He would see
d to him always; and his lungs going wrong, and loneliness, like a homesick school-girl! Winn had never felt lonely in Central Africa or Tibet, so that it seemed rather absurd to start such an emotion in a railway train
toms of bad lungs which Travers hadn't mentioned, the same kind of thing
nearest window; but there was a blurred sensation behind everything, a tiresome, unaccountable feeling as if he mightn't always be able to do things. He
ked after. The mere thought of it drove him into the corridor, where he spent the night alternately walking up and down and
ch interest in mere scenery, the small Swiss villages, with their high pink or blue clock-faced churches made hi
ring carriage on the subject of an open window. The snows reminded Winn in a
he mountains rose up on all sides, wave upon wave of frozen foam, aiming steadily at the high, clear
Winn had not read these poets. It reminded him of a particularly good chamois hunt, in which he had bagged a splendid fellow, after four hours' hard climbing and stalking. The mountains receded a little, and everything became part of a white hollow filled with black fir-trees, an
ht them, not the insidious, subtle cold of lower worlds, but the fresh, brusk buffet of the Alps. It caught them by the throat and c
ssion of his porter when he saw a man struggle into the light under
f the air he caught her dry whispering voice, "I am not really tired, dearest," she murmured. In a moment they had vanished. It struck Winn as very curious that people could love each other like that, or that a dying woman should fight her husband's fears with her last strength. He felt horribly sorry for them and impatient with himself for feeling sorry. After all, he
hom Winn felt an instant simple antagonism. He was a sel
d his words, "if you don't look a little sharp and bring me the right boxe
wiftly toward its destination. The hotel was an ugly wooden house in the shape of a hive built out with balconies; it reminded Winn of
g Winn into a brilliantly lighted,
feel called upon to say on arriving at a cold place
ing that it was late and that they must be quiet, and he didn't seem to believe Winn when Winn remarked that he hadn't come up there to be quiet. Winn
leanliness and silence, the subduing smell of disi
een door leading into a farther room, he became aware of a very faint sound that came from the other side o
ith him, seldom shattering and harsh, but always sounding as if something were being brok
a small private balcony-if he had to be out on a balcony, he had of
in a narrow circle on a sheet of snow; behind them the vague
and yet solemn sound, as if it alone were responsible for humanity, for all the souls cro
mself. "No idea it was like this. Sort o
of a light rushing across the snow. Some one must be tobogganing out there, some one very young and gay and incorrigibly certain of joy. Winn hoped
He smiled as he thought that the owner of the voice, even if collared, would proba