"True," he said, after a pause. "I had forgotten my letters." And he
rose from his seat at the table, mounted the steps, and passed into the
mess-room.
Calder immediately sprang up, and with his eyes followed Durrance's
movements. Durrance went to a nail which was fixed in the wall close to
the glass doors and on a level with his head. From that nail he took
down the key of his office, crossed the room, and went out through the
farther door. That door he left open, and Calder could see him walk down
the path between the bushes through the tiny garden in front of the
mess, unlatch the gate, and cross the open space of sand towards his
office. As soon as Durrance had disappeared Calder sat down again, and,
resting his elbows on the table, propped his face between his hands.
Calder was troubled. He was a friend of Durrance; he was the one man in
Wadi Halfa who possessed something of Durrance's confidence; he knew
that there were certain letters in a woman's handwriting waiting for him
in his office. He was very deeply troubled. Durrance had aged during
these eight weeks. There were furrows about his mouth where only faint
lines had been visible when he had started out from Halfa; and it was
not merely desert dust which had discoloured his hair.
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