To ask it and to reject
it was a short course to insult.
He resolved to avoid Julian until this gripping desire was shaken from
the shoulders of his mind.
Once or twice he tacitly wondered whether Julian was also the prey of
this desire, but then he felt certain that his friend could not be so
afflicted. Had he been, Julian would surely have found a swift occasion
to call. But he did not call. His feet did not turn their accustomed
way to Victoria Street. And it did not occur to Valentine that Julian
might be immersed in the same sort of struggle as himself. He thought he
knew Julian well enough to be sure that he would not have joined issue
with such an enemy without instant consultation. A council of war would
certainly have been convened.
So Valentine believed himself lonely in his feeling. One night he
returned from the theatre and a succeeding supper party at half-past
twelve, let himself into the flat with a latchkey, threw off his coat
and stood before the fire. His usually smooth, white forehead was
puckered in a frown. He contemplated the inevitable hours of bed
with dissatisfaction. When a man has allowed a vice to obtain dominion
over him there are moments when an enforced abstinence from it, even
of only a few hours, seems intolerably irksome.
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