In Mr. Tulkinghorn’s Room

           Mr.Tulkinghornarrivesinhisturret-roomalittlebreathedbythejourneyup,thoughleisurelyperformed.Thereisanexpressiononhisfaceasifhehaddischargedhismindofsomegravematterandwere,inhiscloseway,satisfied.Tosayofamansoseverelyandstrictlyself-repressedthatheistriumphantwouldbetodohimasgreataninjusticeastosupposehimtroubledwithloveorsentimentoranyromanticweakness.Heissedatelysatisfied.Perhapsthereisaratherincreasedsenseofpoweruponhimashelooselygraspsoneofhisveinouswristswithhisotherhandandholdingitbehindhisbackwalksnoiselesslyupanddown.Thereisacapaciouswriting-tableintheroomonwhichisaprettylargeaccumulationofpapers.Thegreenlampislighted,hisreading-glasseslieuponthedesk,theeasy-chairiswheeleduptoit,anditwouldseemasthoughhehadintendedtobestowanhourorsoupontheseclaimsonhisattentionbeforegoingtobed.Buthehappensnottobeinabusinessmind.Afteraglanceatthedocumentsawaitinghisnoticewithhisheadbentlowoverthetable,theoldman’ssightforprintorwritingbeingdefectiveatnightheopenstheFrenchwindowandstepsoutupontheleads.Thereheagainwalksslowlyupanddowninthesameattitude,subsiding,ifamansocoolmayhaveanyneedtosubside,fromthestoryhehasrelateddownstairs.ThetimewasoncewhenmenasknowingasMr.Tulkinghornwouldwalkonturret-topsinthestarlightandlookupintotheskytoreadtheirfortunesthere.

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Roboto Lora
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