But his grandfather slept
on, no step was on the stairs, the room was very dark and evening fell
beyond the long windows and over the sea.
His youth made of a day eternity--there was no end nor term to his love,
to his hatred, to his loneliness, to his utter misery ... and also he was
afraid. He would have given his world for Stephen, but Stephen was already
off on his travels.
Very softly and stealthily the door opened and, holding a quivering
candle, with her finger to her mouth, there appeared his aunt. He looked
at her coldly as she came across the room towards him. He had never felt
any affection for her because she had always seemed to him weak and
useless--a frightened, miserable, vacillating, negative person--even when
he had been a very small boy he had despised her. Her eyes were red and
swollen with crying, her grey and scanty hair had fallen about her collar,
her old black blouse was unbuttoned at the top showing her bony neck and
her thin crooked hands were trembling in the candle-light. Her eyes were
large and frightened and her back was bent as though she was cowering from
a blow. She had never taken very much notice of her nephew--of late she had
been afraid of him; he was surprised now that she should come to speak to
him.
"Peter," she said in a whisper, looking back over her shoulder at the door.
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