He
remembered nothing ... he only knew that in the air there was the breath of
flowers and that through the open window there floated up to him a song, a
murmur of the sea, a rattle of little carts.
He looked about his room. On a distant wall there was a
photograph--"Dunotter Rocks, from the East." Then he remembered.
He flung the bed-clothes off him and hurried to dress. He must go up to
Scaw House at once, at once, at once. Not another moment must be wasted.
His hands trembled as he put on his clothes and when he came downstairs he
was dishevelled and untidy. He had eaten nothing for many hours but food
now would have choked him. He hurried out of the hotel.
The town must have had many recollections to offer him had he observed
it but he passed through it, looking neither to the right nor the left,
brushing people aside, striding with great steps up the steep cobbled
street that leads out of the town, on to the Sea Road.
Here on the Sea Road he paused. The wind, tearing, as it had always done,
round the corner met him and for a moment he had to pull himself together
and face it. He remembered, too, at that instant, Norah Monogue. Where had
he seen her? What had brought her to his mind quite lately? What did she
mean by interfering?--interfering? Then he remembered. It was her name in
the letter rack. She was at The Man at Arms ill.
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