But this thawing of Julian, the quick response of humanity to the adroit
treatment of it, only threw into harsher relief the immobility of
Valentine, and to him the doctor drew no nearer, but seemed, with each
moment, more distant, more absolutely divided from him. And the gulf
between them was full of icebergs, which filled the atmosphere with the
breath of a deadly frost. This was what the doctor felt. What Valentine,
the new Valentine, felt could not be ascertained. He wore a brilliant
mask, on whose gay mouth the society smile was singularly well painted.
He wore a manner edged with tinkling bells of brilliancy. Happiness and
ease beamed in his eyes. Yet his look, his voice, his smile, his gaiety
chilled the doctor and set him mentally shivering. And with each bright
saying and merry laugh he struck a blow upon the former friendship.
The doctor fancied he could actually hear the sound of the hammer at
its work.
The simile of the hammer was peculiarly consonant with his present
view of the new Valentine, for, despite the latter's gaiety, ease, and
self-possession, his smiling sociability and expansiveness, the doctor
was perpetually conscious of a lurking violence, an incessant and
forcible exigence in him.
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