So absorbed was he that,
when a step sounded on the stairs outside, he did not notice
it, and only raised his head when the door was thrown open
unceremoniously. Even then his interest was momentary.
"Hullo!" he said, his eyes returning to their scrutiny of his
task.
Chilcote shut the door and came hastily across the room. He
looked ill and harassed. As he reached Loder he put out his
hand nervously and touched his arm.
Loder looked up. "What is it?" he asked. "Any new
development?"
Chilcote tried to smile. "Yes," he said, huskily; "it's
come."
Loder freed his arm. "What? The end of the world?"
"No. The end of me." The words came jerkily, the strain that
had enforced them showing in every syllable.
Still Loder was uncomprehending; he could not, or would not,
understand.
Again Chilcote caught and jerked at his sleeve. "Don't you
see? Can't you see?"
"No."
Chilcote dropped the sleeve and passed his handkerchief across
his forehead. "It's come," he repeated. "Don't you understand?
I want you.
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