"
With hurrying deference George gave the cigarette, and struck a match
for it, and as he held the match he had a near view of Mr. Enwright's
prosaic unshaved chin. The house was no longer the haunt of lurking
phantoms; it was a common worldly house without any mystery or any
menace. George's skin was no longer the field of abnormal phenomena.
Dawn was conquering Russell Square. On the other hand, George was no
longer a giant of energy, initiating out of ample experience a
tremendous and superb enterprise. He was suddenly diminished to a boy,
or at best a lad. He really felt that it was ridiculous for him to be
sketching and scratching away there in the middle of the night in his
dress-clothes. Even his overcoat, hat, and fancy muffler cast on a chair
seemed ridiculous. He was a child, pretending to be an adult. He glanced
like a child at Mr. Enwright; he roughened his hair with his hand like a
child. He had the most wistful and apologetic air.
He said:
"I just came along here for a bit instead of going to bed. I didn't know
it was so late."
"Do you often just come along here?"
"No. I never did it before. But to-night----"
"What is it you're _at_?"
"I'd been thinking a bit about that new town hall."
"What new town hall?"
"You know----"
Mr. Enwright did know.
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