"He takes it," Bobby explained to Alice, "as though it were a kind of
omen, sees ever so much more in it than any of us do. It seems that he was
coming round the very evening that father died to talk to him, and that he
suddenly saw the blinds down; it was a shock to him, of course. I think
it's all been a kind of remorse working out, remorse not only for having
neglected my father but for having left other things--his work, I suppose,
rather to look after themselves. But he won't tell me," Bobby almost
desperately concluded, "he won't tell me anything--he really is the most
extraordinary chap."
And Peter found it difficult enough to tell himself, did not indeed try. He
only knew that he felt an acute, passionate remorse and that it seemed to
him that the denial of that last visit was an omen of the anger of all the
Gods, and even--although to this last he gave no kind of expression--the
malicious contrivance of an old man who waited for him down there in that
house by the sea. It was as though gates had been clanged in his face, and
that as he heard them close he heard also the jeering laughter behind
them.... He had missed his chance.
He saw, instantly, that Clare understood none of this, and that, indeed,
she took it all as rather an affectation on his part, something in him that
belonged to that side of him that she tried to forget.
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