When he had put five hundred yards between himself and
that house, he turned to look back. He put his hand to his face and
wiped away drops of sweat, a clammy exudation that broke out all over
his body very much as if he had just become aware of escaping by a
hair's breadth some imminent and terrible disaster. In truth that was
precisely his feeling,--as if he had been capering madly on the brink
of some fearful abyss which he could not see until it was revealed to
him in a terrifying flash.
He shivered. His ego grovelled in the dirt. He had often smiled at
theories of dual personality. But standing there on the frozen stream
with the white hills looming high above the green-forested lowlands he
was no longer sure of anything, least of all whether in him might lurk
a duality of forces which could sway him as they would. Either that,
or he had gone mad for a while, a brief madness born of sex-hunger, of
isolation, of brooding over unassuaged bitterness.
Perhaps he might have done what he set out to do if the man had not
been there. But he did not think so now.
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