How the interval of suspense in which I was now condemned might
have affected other men in my position, I cannot pretend to say. The
influence of the two hours' probation upon my temperament was simply
this. I felt physically incapable of remaining still in any one place,
and morally incapable of speaking to any one human being, until I had
first heard all that Ezra Jennings had to say to me.
In this frame of mind, I not only abandoned my contemplated visit to
Mrs. Ablewhite--I even shrank from encountering Gabriel Betteredge
himself.
Returning to Frizinghall, I left a note for Betteredge, telling him that
I had been unexpectedly called away for a few hours, but that he might
certainly expect me to return towards three o'clock in the afternoon. I
requested him, in the interval, to order his dinner at the usual hour,
and to amuse himself as he pleased. He had, as I well knew, hosts of
friends in Frizinghall; and he would be at no loss how to fill up his
time until I returned to the hotel.
This done, I made the best of my way out of the town again, and roamed
the lonely moorland country which surrounds Frizinghall, until my watch
told me that it was time, at last, to return to Mr. Candy's house.
I found Ezra Jennings ready and waiting for me.
He was sitting alone in a bare little room, which communicated by a
glazed door with a surgery. Hideous coloured diagrams of the ravages of
hideous diseases decorated the barren buff-coloured walls. A book-case
filled with dingy medical works, and ornamented at the top with a skull,
in place of the customary bust; a large deal table copiously splashed
with ink; wooden chairs of the sort that are seen in kitchens and
cottages; a threadbare drugget in the middle of the floor; a sink of
water, with a basin and waste-pipe roughly let into the wall, horribly
suggestive of its connection with surgical operations--comprised the
entire furniture of the room. The bees were humming among a few flowers
placed in pots outside the window; the birds were singing in the
garden, and the faint intermittent jingle of a tuneless piano in some
neighbouring house forced itself now and again on the ear. In any
other place, these everyday sounds might have spoken pleasantly of the
everyday world outside. Here, they came in as intruders on a silence
which nothing but human suffering had the privilege to disturb. I looked
at the mahogany instrument case, and at the huge roll of lint, occupying
places of their own on the book-shelves, and shuddered inwardly as I
thought of the sounds, familiar and appropriate to the everyday use of
Ezra Jennings' room.