Then we were in Sloane Square, at my flat, and I was thanking him, or
he was thanking me--I forget which; and he promised to call at noon
next day to take me to Klotz's home.... And the lamps in Sloane Square
seemed duller than before.
Selfishness does not die in an hour, but the bachelor who looked from
his window that night was a different man from the one who had spoken
to Mrs. Mulvaney. He was thinking ... and much is accomplished in
itself when a man is made to think.
A distant clock struck one.