Chapter XXI

           

           Ilethimtakemetoarestaurantofhischoice,butonthewayIboughtapaper.Whenwehadorderedourdinner,IproppeditagainstabottleofSt.Galmierandbegantoread.Weateinsilence.Ifelthimlookingatmenowandagain,butItooknonotice.Imeanttoforcehimtoconversation.

           "Isthereanythinginthepaper?"hesaid,asweapproachedtheendofoursilentmeal.

           Ifanciedtherewasinhistoneaslightnoteofexasperation.

           "Ialwaysliketoreadthefeuilletononthedrama,"Isaid.

           Ifoldedthepaperandputitdownbesideme.

           "I’veenjoyedmydinner,"heremarked.

           "Ithinkwemighthaveourcoffeehere,don’tyou?"

           "Yes."

           Welitourcigars.Ismokedinsilence.Inoticedthatnowandthenhiseyesrestedonmewithafaintsmileofamusement.Iwaitedpatiently.

           "WhathaveyoubeenuptosinceIsawyoulast?"heaskedatlength.

           Ihadnotverymuchtosay.Itwasarecordofhardworkandoflittleadventure;ofexperimentsinthisdirectionandinthat;ofthegradualacquisitionoftheknowledgeofbooksandofmen.ItookcaretoaskStricklandnothingabouthisowndoings.Ishowednottheleastinterestinhim,andatlastIwasrewarded.Hebegantotalkofhimself.Butwithhispoorgiftofexpressionhegavebutindicationsofwhathehadgonethrough,andIhadtofillupthegapswithmyownimagination.Itwastantalisingtogetnomorethanhintsintoacharacterthatinterestedmesomuch.Itwaslikemakingone’swaythroughamutilatedmanuscript.

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