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He reached the inn, breathless. It is when, storm-beaten and struggling
in the invisible convulsions of the soul until he knows not whether he
is in life or in death, that all the delicacy of a man's affection for
his loved ones, being yet unimpaired, proves a heart true. When all else
is swallowed up, tenderness still floats unshattered. Not to awaken Dea
too suddenly was Gwynplaine's first thought. He approached the inn with
as little noise as possible. He recognized the nook, the old dog kennel,
where Govicum used to sleep. In it, contiguous to the lower room, was a
window opening on to the field. Gwynplaine tapped softly at the pane. It
would be enough to awaken Govicum, he thought.
There was no sound in Govicum's room.
"
At his age," said Gwynplaine, "a boy sleeps soundly."
With the back of his hand he knocked against the window gently. Nothing
stirred.
He knocked louder twice. Still nothing stirred. Then, feeling somewhat
uneasy, he went to the door of the inn and knocked. No one answered. He
reflected, and began to feel a cold shudder come over him.
"
Master Nicless is old, children sleep soundly, and old men heavily.
Courage! louder!"
He had tapped, he had knocked, he had kicked the door; now he flung
himself against it.
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