bout
his ears.

Peter too felt it strange and new, and laughed a little at it and himself
as he comforted Thomas. But his very laughter was new and very dreary. He
picked Thomas up in his arms and held him close, a warm little whimpering
bundle. Then it was as if the touch of the small live thing that was his
own and had no one in the world but him to fend for it woke in him a new
instinct. There sprang up in him swiftly, new-born out of the travail of
great bitterness, a sharp anger against life, against fate, against the
whole universe of nature and man. To lose and lose and lose--how that
goes on and on through a lifetime! But at last it seems that the limit is
reached, something snaps and breaks, and the loser rises up, philosopher
no more, to take and grasp and seize. The lust to possess, to wring
something for Thomas and himself out of life that had torn from them so
much--it sprang upon him like a wild beast, and fastened deep fangs into
his soul and will.

Outside, a small April wind stirred the air of the encompassing city, a
faint breath from a better world, seeming to speak of life and hope and
new beginnings.

Peter, laying Thomas gently on a chair, went to the open window and leant
out, looking into the veil of the unhappy streets that hid an exquisite
world. Exquisiteness was surely there, as always. Mightn't he too, he and
Thomas, snatch some of it for themselves? The old inborn lust for things
concrete, lovely things to handle and hold, caught Peter by the throat.
In that hour he could have walked without a scruple into an empty house
or shop and carried away what he could of its beauties, and brought them
home to Thomas, saying, "Anyhow, here's something for us to go on with."
He was in the mood in which some people take to drink, only Peter didn't
like any drinks except non-alcoholic ones; or to reckless gambling, only
he didn't find gambling amusing; or to some adventure of love, only to
Peter love meant one thing only, and that was beyond his reach.

But when he had put Thomas to bed, in his little common cheap night-shirt,
he went out into the streets with his weekly earnings in his pockets and
spent them. He spent every penny he had. First he went to a florist's and
bought daffodils, in great golden sheaves. Then he went to a toyshop and
got a splendid family of fluffy beasts, and a musical box, and a Noah's
Ark, and a flute. He had spent all his money by then, so he pawned his
watch and signet