He drew compellingly upon his new characters to keep him out of this melancholy channel; but they ebbed and ebbed; he could not hold them. If they entered a shop, he paused by the doorway, as if waiting for the journey to be resumed. She guessed that he probably slept all of three hours a night at most. . The effort of self-repression cost him a sob. The road from Surbiton and Epsom ran under the arch, and, like a bright fungoid growth in the ditch, there was now appearing a sort of fourth estate of little redand-white rough-cast villas, with meretricious gables and very brassy windowblinds.
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