In his room, however, re-establishing his sense of comfort, he found,
on a low table by the bed, a choice of whiskies, charged water,
cigarettes, nectarines, orange-brown mangoes, and black Belgian grapes,
Attached to an electric plug was a small coffee percolator; for the
morning, Lee gathered. His pajamas, his dressing gown and slippers,
were conveniently laid at his hand. He was, in fact, so comfortable
that he had no desire to get into bed; and he sat smoking, over a tall
drink, speculating about his hostess. Perhaps she had difficulties with
the obdurate correctness of William; but Mrs. Grove would have been too
well-steeled there to show any resentment to a virtual stranger; no,
whatever it was lay within herself. He gave it up, since, he proclaimed
aloud, it didn't touch him.
The opened windows admitted the vast unsubdued clamor of New York; the
immeasurable force of the city seemed to press in upon the room, upon
his thoughts. How different it was from the open countryside, the quiet
scene, of his home in Eastlake. There the lowing of a chance cow robbed
of her calf, her udder aching, the diminishing barking of dogs and the
birds--sparrows in winter and robins in the spring--were the only
sounds that disturbed the dark. In the morning the farmer above Lee
rolled the milk down the road, past his window, on a carrier, and the
milk cans made a sudden rattle and ringing.
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