under his eyes in the Avant Port the dim hulls of steamers and
war-ships, fishing-boats and tugs, lay like monsters asleep.

There was no reason why all this should make him feel outside
[Transcriber's Note: Original reads 'outide'] the warm glow and life of
things; but it did. It did worse in that it inspired a longing for what
he knew positively to be unattainable. It stirred a new impulse to fight
for what he had definitely given up. It raised again questions he thought
he had answered and revived hopes he had never had to quench, since from
the beginning they were vain.

_Were_ they vain? In taking this form the query became more
insidious--more difficult to debate and settle once for all. To every
argument there was a perpetually recurring, "Yes, but--" with the memory
of the instants when her hand rested in his longer than there was any
need for, of certain looks and lights in her eyes, of certain tones and
half-tones in her voice. Other men would have made these things a
beginning, whereas he had taken them as the end. He had taken them as
the end by a foregone conclusion. They had meant so much to him that he
couldn't conceive of asking more, when perhaps they were nothing but the
first fruits.

The wind increased in violence; the spray was salt on his mustache, and
clung to the nap of his clothing. The radiance that marked Trouville and
Honfleur grew dim almost to extinction. Along the quay the cafes began
to diminish the number of their lights. The cheerful groups broke up,
strolling home to the mansard or to the fo'castle, with bursts of
drunken or drowsy song. Davenant continued to sit crouched, huddled,
bowed. He ceased to argue, or to follow the conflict between
self-interest and duty, or to put up a fight of any kind. He was content
to sit still and suffer. In its own way suffering was a relief. It was
the first time he had given it a chance since he had brought himself to
facing squarely the fact of his useless, pointless love. He had always
dodged it by finding something to be done, or choked it down by sheer
force of will. Now he let it rush in on him, all through him, all over
him, flooding his mind and spirit, making his heart swell and his blood
surge and his nerves ache and his limbs throb and quiver. If he could
have formed a thought it would have been that of the Hebrew Psalmist
when he felt himself poured out like water. He had neither shame for his
manhood nor alarm for his pride till he hear