Not even the emptiness of the street discouraged him. He
strolled a little way along and back again. As he passed the door once
more, something bright lying underneath the scraper attracted his
notice. He paused and stooped down. Almost before he had realised what
he was doing, he had picked up a small key, her latch-key, and was
holding it in his hand.
He passed down the street again and there seemed something unreal in the
broad pavement, the frowning houses, the glow of the gas lamps. The
harmless little key burned his flesh. All the passionate acuteness of
life seemed throbbing again in his veins. He retraced his steps, making
no plans, obeying only an ungovernable instinct. The street was empty.
He thrust the key into the lock, opened the door, replaced the key under
the scraper, entered the house and made his way into the room on the
right.
Tallente stood there for a few minutes with fast-beating heart. He had
the feeling that he had burned his boats. He was face to face now with
realities. There was no sound from anywhere. A bright fire was burning
in the grate.
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