As he did so,
Valentine moved a little nearer, as if urged by a sudden impulse. He bent
down to gaze into Cuckoo's face, and uttered a short exclamation.
"The battle!" he said.
An expression almost of awe had come into his eyes, and for a moment he
hesitated, even half turned as if to slink away. But then, with a strong
effort, he recovered himself and again fixed his eyes on Julian.
"Come, Julian!" he said.
"I will not come."
"I have a cab here waiting." Valentine spoke with an iron calm. "We had
arranged to go to Magdalen's."
Julian uttered an oath.
"That devil!" he exclaimed. "I won't go to her. I am half dead. I am
killing myself."
He pulled himself up short, then cried out savagely, and half
despairingly:
"No, by God, you are killing me!"
He began to tremble, and looked towards Cuckoo as a man looks who seeks
for refuge.
"You are treating me very strangely, Julian," Valentine said frigidly.
"Last night you were drunk. You seemed to take me for some enemy, and
struck me. Many men would resent your conduct. I am too much your
friend."
"You--my friend!" Julian exclaimed bitterly.
"You!"
Abruptly he sprang up, tearing his hand out of Cuckoo's. He went over to
Valentine and stared with a passion of perplexity and of loathing into
his eyes.
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