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mingled in unintelligible horror. It can no longer breathe Truth; it is
crushed by things in which it does not believe. Nothingness becomes
hurricane. The firmament pales. Infinity is empty. The mind of the
sufferer wanders away. He feels himself dying. He craves for a star.
What did Gwynplaine feel? a thirst--a thirst to see Dea.
He felt but that. To reach the Green Box again, and the Tadcaster Inn,
with its sounds and light--full of the cordial laughter of the people;
to find Ursus and Homo, to see Dea again, to re-enter life. Disillusion,
like a bow, shoots its arrow, man, towards the True. Gwynplaine hastened
on. He approached Tarrinzeau Field. He walked no longer now; he ran. His
eyes pierced the darkness before him. His glance preceded him, eagerly
seeking the harbour on the horizon. What a moment for him when he should
see the lighted windows of Tadcaster Inn!
He reached the bowling-green. He turned the corner of the wall, and saw
before him, at the other end of the field, some distance off, the
inn--the only house, it may be remembered, in the field where the fair
was held.
He looked. There was no light; nothing but a black mass.
He shuddered. Then he said to himself that it was late; that the tavern
was shut up; that it was very natural; that every one was asleep; that
he had only to awaken Nicless or Govicum; that he must go up to the inn
and knock at the door. He did so, running no longer now, but rushing.
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