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Chapter 7

           

           Itoccurredtohimthatnoonecouldunderstandhimsowellashissister.Inthemostscepticalhearttherelurksatsuchmoments,whenthechancesofexistenceareinvolved,adesiretoleaveacorrectimpressionofthefeelings,likealightbywhichtheactionmaybeseenwhenpersonalityisgone,gonewherenolightofinvestigationcaneverreachthetruthwhicheverydeathtakesoutoftheworld.Therefore,insteadoflookingforsomethingtoeat,ortryingtosnatchanhourorsoofsleep,Decoudwasfillingthepagesofalargepocket-bookwithalettertohissister.

           Intheintimacyofthatintercoursehecouldnotkeepouthisweariness,hisgreatfatigue,theclosetouchofhisbodilysensations.Hebeganagainasifheweretalkingtoher.Withalmostanillusionofherpresence,hewrotethephrase,“Iamveryhungry.”

           “Ihavethefeelingofagreatsolitudearoundme,”hecontinued.“Isit,perhaps,becauseIamtheonlymanwithadefiniteideainhishead,inthecompletecollapseofeveryresolve,intention,andhopeaboutme?Butthesolitudeisalsoveryreal.Alltheengineersareout,andhavebeenfortwodays,lookingafterthepropertyoftheNationalCentralRailway,ofthatgreatCostaguanaundertakingwhichistoputmoneyintothepocketsofEnglishmen,Frenchmen,Americans,Germans,andGodknowswhoelse.Thesilenceaboutmeisominous.

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