They spoke, as they went, of all the minor things of
life, details of home, details of petty sins, details of common loves and
common hopes and fears, all stirring feebly under umbrellas. And close
by these two friends, under three flaring gas-jets, watched the unwinking
dead man, whose face seemed full of relief. Presently Julian, without
looking up, said:
"Death has utterly changed him. He is no longer the same man. Formerly
he looked all evil, and now it's just as if his body were thanking God
because it had got rid of a soul it had hated. Yes, it's just like that.
Valentine, I feel as if Marr had been rescued."
As he said the last words Julian looked up across the barrier of the bed
at his friend. His lips opened as if to speak, but he said nothing; for
he was under the spell of a wild hallucination. It seemed to him that
there, under the hard glare of the gas-lamps, the soul of Marr spoke,
stared from the pure, proud face of Valentine. That was like a possession
of his friend. It was horrible, as if a devil chose for a moment to lurk
and to do evil in the sanctuary of a church, to blaspheme at the very
altar. Valentine did not speak. He was looking down on the dead serenity
of Marr, vindictively.
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