However, during its course--
he drew in a long audible breath. It was no good thinking of that! He
completed his preparations for the night; but he still lingered, some
of the drink remained. Lee was glad that he had grown quieter,
reflective, middle-aged; it was absurd, undignified, for him to imitate
the transports of the young. It pleased him, though, to realize that he
wasn't done, extinguished, yet; he might play court tennis--it wasn't
as violent as racquets or squash--and get back a little of his lapsed
agility; better still, he'd ride more, take three days a week, he could
well afford to, instead of only Saturday and holidays in the country.
It was a mistake to disparage continually the life, the pleasures and
friends, he had--the friends he had gathered through long arduous years
of effort. He must grow more familiar with Helena and Gregory, too; no
one had handsomer or finer children. And there was Fanny--for one
friend of his she had ten; she was universally liked and admired. Lee
was, at last, in bed; but sleep continued to evade him. He didn't fall
asleep, but sank into a waking dose; his mind was clear, but not
governed by his conscious will; it seemed to him that there was no
Savina Grove, but only Cytherea; her smile, her fascination, everywhere
followed him. A damned funny business, life! At times its secret, the
meaning of love, was almost clear, and then, about to be freed by
knowledge, his thoughts would break, grow confused, and leave him still
baffled.
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