at made it all seem different to Gregory. He sat down
by the window with his eyes carefully averted, and spoke in soft tones
broken by something that sounded like emotion. He began by telling her
of his woman with the morphia habit, and then he told her that he knew
everything. When he had said this he looked out of the window, where
builders had left by inadvertence a narrow strip of sky. And thus he
avoided seeing the look on her face, contemptuous, impatient, as though
she were thinking: 'You are a good fellow, Gregory, but for Heaven's
sake do see things for once as they are! I have had enough of it.' And
he avoided seeing her stretch her arms out and spread the fingers, as an
angry cat will stretch and spread its toes. He told her that he did not
want to worry her, but that when she wanted him for anything she must
send for him--he was always there; and he looked at her feet, so that he
did not see her lip curl. He told her that she would always be the same
to him, and he asked her to believe that. He did not see the smile which
never left her lips again while he was there--the smile he could not
read, because it was the smile of life, and of a woman that he did not
understand. But he did see on that sofa a beautiful creature for whom he
had longed for years, and so he went away, and left her standing at the
door with her teeth fastened on her lip: And since with him Gregory took
his eyes, he did not see her reseated on the sofa, just as she had been
before he came in, her elbows on her knees, her chin in her hand, her
moody eyes like those of a gambler staring into the distance....

In the streets of tall houses leading away from Chelsea were many men,
some, like Gregory, hungry for love, and some hungry for bread--men in
twos and threes, in crowds, or by themselves, some with their eyes on
the ground, some with their eyes level, some with their eyes on the sky,
but all with courage and loyalty of one poor kind or another in their
hearts. For by courage and loyalty alone it is written that man shall
live, whether he goes to Chelsea or whether he comes away. Of all these
men, not one but would have smiled to hear Gregory saying to himself:
"She will always be the same to me! She will always be the same to me!"
And not one that would have grinned....

It was getting on for the Stoics' dinner hour when Gregory found himself
in Piccadilly, and, Stoic after Stoic, they were getting out of cabs and
passing the club door