Then he, too,
saw what he held. He glanced at the doctor, and there was a glare of
defeat in his eyes. Then he passed across the room to the window, still
holding the dog, pulled aside the curtain and thrust up the window. The
ground was white and the snow was falling. With an angry gesture he flung
the body out. It dropped with a soft noise in the snow and lay there.
Valentine closed the window, but the doctor felt as if he still saw the
poor little corpse in the snow. And he shuddered.
A moment afterwards there was a step in the passage and Julian entered.
He was looking haggard and excited, and ill with dissipation. His eyes
shone in deep hollows that seemed to have been painted with indigo,
and his lips were parched and feverish.
"Where have you been, Julian?" said Valentine.
"Oh, with her--with Molly, of course," he replied.
"What? Till now?"
Julian seemed uneasy under his scrutiny.
"Till this morning," he replied, almost suddenly.
"Well, but since then?"
"With Cuckoo. Oh! don't bother me."
He went over towards the window.
"Oh, how hot it is here," he said.
He glanced at the bright fire.
"Intolerably!" he murmured.
And he opened the window to the drifting snow.
"Am I mad?" he suddenly cried to them.
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