When the train reached Nettleton and she walked out into the square at
Mr. Royall's side the sense of unreality grew more overpowering. The
physical strain of the night and day had left no room in her mind for
new sensations and she followed Mr. Royall as passively as a tired
child. As in a confused dream she presently found herself sitting with
him in a pleasant room, at a table with a red and white table-cloth
on which hot food and tea were placed. He filled her cup and plate and
whenever she lifted her eyes from them she found his resting on her with
the same steady tranquil gaze that had reassured and strengthened
her when they had faced each other in old Mrs. Hobart's kitchen. As
everything else in her consciousness grew more and more confused
and immaterial, became more and more like the universal shimmer that
dissolves the world to failing eyes, Mr. Royall's presence began to
detach itself with rocky firmness from this elusive background. She had
always thought of him--when she thought of him at all--as of someone
hateful and obstructive, but whom she could outwit and dominate when
she chose to make the effort.
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