III
He entered the room and found Stephen Brant and Mr. Zanti facing him. The
little window between the dim rows of books showed him the pale light that
was soon to succeed the storm. The two men seemed to fill the little room;
their bodies were shadowy and mysterious against the pale colour, and Peter
had the impression that the things in the room--the chairs, the books, the
table--huddled against the wall, so crowded did the place seem.
For himself, at his first sight of them, he was compelled, instantly, to
check a feeling of joy so overwhelming that he was himself astonished at
the force of it. To them, as they stood there, smiling, feeling that same
emotion to which he, also, was now succumbing! He checked himself. It was
as though he were forced suddenly, by a supreme effort of will, to drive
from the room a tumultuous crowd of pictures, enthusiasms and memories,
that, for the sake of the present and of the future, must be forbidden to
stay with him. It was absurd--he was a husband, a father, a responsible
householder, almost a personage... and yet, as he looked at Stephen's eyes
and Mr. Zanti's smile, he was the little boy back again in Tan's shop with
the old suit of armour, the beads and silver and Eastern cloths, and out
beyond the window, the sea was breaking upon the wooden jetty....
He put the picture away from him and rushed to greet the two of them.
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