So they sat, by the firelight, in the silence, one on each side of the
hearth.
And the fume of the burning cedar logs, that he loved so well, seemed to
grip Soames by the throat till he could bear it no longer. And going
out into the hall he flung the door wide, to gulp down the cold air that
came in; then without hat or overcoat went out into the Square.
Along the garden rails a half-starved cat came rubbing her way towards
him, and Soames thought: 'Suffering! when will it cease, my suffering?'
At a front door across the way was a man of his acquaintance named
Rutter, scraping his boots, with an air of 'I am master here.' And
Soames walked on.
From far in the clear air the bells of the church where he and Irene had
been married were pealing in 'practice' for the advent of Christ, the
chimes ringing out above the sound of traffic. He felt a craving for
strong drink, to lull him to indifference, or rouse him to fury. If only
he could burst out of himself, out of this web that for the first
time in his life he felt around him. If only he could surrender to the
thought: 'Divorce her--turn her out! She has forgotten you. Forget her!'
If only he could surrender to the thought: 'Let her go--she has suffered
enough!'
If only he could surrender to the desire: 'Make a slave of her--she is
in your power!'
If only even he could surrender to the sudden vision: 'What does it all
matter?' Forget himself for a minute, forget that it mattered what he
did, forget that whatever he did he must sacrifice something.
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