He saw her wince, and with a sensation not quite triumph, not quite

relief, he wrenched open the door, passed out through the hall, and got

into his cab. He lolled against the cushion with his eyes shut. Never in

his life had he been so near to murderous violence, never so thrown away

the restraint which was his second nature. He had a stripped and

naked feeling, as if all virtue had gone out of him--life meaningless,

mind-striking work. Sunlight streamed in on him, but he felt cold. The

scene he had passed through had gone from him already, what was before

him would not materialise, he could catch on to nothing; and he felt

frightened, as if he had been hanging over the edge of a precipice, as

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if with another turn of the screw sanity would have failed him. 'I'm not

fit for it,' he thought; 'I mustn't--I'm not fit for it.' The cab sped

on, and in mechanical procession trees, houses, people passed, but had

no significance. 'I feel very queer,' he thought; 'I'll take a Turkish

bath.--I've been very near to something. It won't do.' The cab whirred

its way back over the bridge, up the Fulham Road, along the Park.

"To the Hammam," said Soames.

Curious that on so warm a summer day, heat should be so comforting!

Crossing into the hot room he met George Forsyte coming out, red and

glistening.

"Hallo!" said George; "what are you training for? You've not got much

superfluous."

Buffoon! Soames passed him with his sideway smile. Lying back, rubbing

his skin uneasily for the first signs of perspiration, he thought: 'Let

them laugh! I won't feel anything! I can't stand violence! It's not good

for me!'




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