Chilcote moved nervously in his seat. It was the first real
clash of personalities. He felt it--recognized it by
instinct. The sense of domination had fallen on him; he knew
himself impotent in the other's hands. Whatever he might
attempt in moments of solitude, he possessed no voice in
presence of this invincible second self. For a while he
struggled--he did not fight, he struggled to resist--then,
lifting his eyes, he met Loder's. "And what will you do?" he
said, weakly.
Loder returned his questioning gaze; but almost immediately he
turned aside. "I?" he said. "Oh, I shall leave London."
XXVII
But Loder did not leave London. And the hour of two on the
day following his dismissal of Chilcote found him again in his
sitting-room.
He sat at the centre-table surrounded by a cloud of smoke; a
pipe was between his lips and the morning's newspapers lay in
a heap beside his elbow. To the student of humanity his
attitude was intensely interesting. It was the attitude of a
man trammelled by the knowledge of his strength.
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