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"
Do
you
mean
to
say
,
"
said
Sloane
stolidly
,
"
that
'cause
you
had
some
sort
of
indigestion
that
made
you
act
like
a
maniac
last
night
,
you
're
never
coming
on
Broadway
again
?
"
Simultaneously
Amory
classed
him
with
the
crowd
,
and
he
seemed
no
longer
Sloane
of
the
debonair
humor
and
the
happy
personality
,
but
only
one
of
the
evil
faces
that
whirled
along
the
turbid
stream
.
"
Man
!
"
he
shouted
so
loud
that
the
people
on
the
corner
turned
and
followed
them
with
their
eyes
,
"
it
's
filthy
,
and
if
you
ca
n't
see
it
,
you
're
filthy
,
too
!
"
"
I
ca
n't
help
it
,
"
said
Sloane
doggedly
.
"
What
's
the
matter
with
you
?
Old
remorse
getting
you
?
You
'd
be
in
a
fine
state
if
you
'd
gone
through
with
our
little
party
.
"
"
I
'm
going
,
Fred
,
"
said
Amory
slowly
.
His
knees
were
shaking
under
him
,
and
he
knew
that
if
he
stayed
another
minute
on
this
street
he
would
keel
over
where
he
stood
.
"
I
'll
be
at
the
Vanderbilt
for
lunch
.
"
And
he
strode
rapidly
off
and
turned
over
to
Fifth
Avenue
.
Back
at
the
hotel
he
felt
better
,
but
as
he
walked
into
the
barber-shop
,
intending
to
get
a
head
massage
,
the
smell
of
the
powders
and
tonics
brought
back
Axia
's
sidelong
,
suggestive
smile
,
and
he
left
hurriedly
.
In
the
doorway
of
his
room
a
sudden
blackness
flowed
around
him
like
a
divided
river
.
When
he
came
to
himself
he
knew
that
several
hours
had
passed
.
He
pitched
onto
the
bed
and
rolled
over
on
his
face
with
a
deadly
fear
that
he
was
going
mad
.
He
wanted
people
,
people
,
some
one
sane
and
stupid
and
good
.
He
lay
for
he
knew
not
how
long
without
moving
.
He
could
feel
the
little
hot
veins
on
his
forehead
standing
out
,
and
his
terror
had
hardened
on
him
like
plaster
.
He
felt
he
was
passing
up
again
through
the
thin
crust
of
horror
,
and
now
only
could
he
distinguish
the
shadowy
twilight
he
was
leaving
.
He
must
have
fallen
asleep
again
,
for
when
he
next
recollected
himself
he
had
paid
the
hotel
bill
and
was
stepping
into
a
taxi
at
the
door
.
It
was
raining
torrents
.
On
the
train
for
Princeton
he
saw
no
one
he
knew
,
only
a
crowd
of
fagged-looking
Philadelphians
.
The
presence
of
a
painted
woman
across
the
aisle
filled
him
with
a
fresh
burst
of
sickness
and
he
changed
to
another
car
,
tried
to
concentrate
on
an
article
in
a
popular
magazine
.
He
found
himself
reading
the
same
paragraphs
over
and
over
,
so
he
abandoned
this
attempt
and
leaning
over
wearily
pressed
his
hot
forehead
against
the
damp
window-pane
.
The
car
,
a
smoker
,
was
hot
and
stuffy
with
most
of
the
smells
of
the
state
's
alien
population
;
he
opened
a
window
and
shivered
against
the
cloud
of
fog
that
drifted
in
over
him
.
The
two
hours
'
ride
were
like
days
,
and
he
nearly
cried
aloud
with
joy
when
the
towers
of
Princeton
loomed
up
beside
him
and
the
yellow
squares
of
light
filtered
through
the
blue
rain
.
Tom
was
standing
in
the
centre
of
the
room
,
pensively
relighting
a
cigar-stub
.
Amory
fancied
he
looked
rather
relieved
on
seeing
him
.
