He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. We pretend we never think of everything that makes us what we are. Here, Jem, take the gentleman's horse to the stable—see him dressed and fed directly. He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. 144 I think he heard about the backpack and the spitballs finally. Prudence attacked her chicken wing.
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