.. you remember Bray, we lunched there once or
twice, just you and I, before everything was settled ... it seemed
strange to be steaming out of Dublin Bay and leaving you a long way off
to the north among the hills ... strange and somehow not quite right ...
for that was the word you used when the morning came behind the
blinds--it is not right that one should suffer so much pain ... the
engines didn't stop, though, they just kept throbbing and revolving and
clanking as though nothing had happened whatever ... one felt a little
angry about that ... the fairyland was already only a sort of golden
blot behind ... and then nothing but sea and the salt wind ... and the
things to be done."
The man in his delirium suddenly lifted himself upon an elbow, and with
the other hand fumbled in his breast as though he searched for
something. "Yes, the things to be done," he repeated in a mumbling
voice, and he sank to unintelligible whisperings, with his head fallen
upon his breast.
Trench put an arm about him and raised him up. But he could do nothing
more, and even to him, crouched as he was close to the ground, the
noisome heat was almost beyond endurance. In front, the din of shrill
voices, the screams for pity, the swaying and struggling, went on in
that appalling darkness.
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