In his
secret dread of meeting the household for the first time, after what he
had done, he lingered at the door on slight pretexts that they might see
him without looking in his face; and left it ajar while he dressed; and
called out to have the windows opened, and the pavement watered, that
they might become accustomed to his voice. Even when he had put off the
time, by one means or other, so that he had seen or spoken to them all,
he could not muster courage for a long while to go in among them,
but stood at his own door listening to the murmur of their distant
conversation.
He could not stop there for ever, and so joined them. His last glance at
the glass had seen a tell-tale face, but that might have been because
of his anxious looking in it. He dared not look at them to see if they
observed him, but he thought them very silent.
And whatsoever guard he kept upon himself, he could not help listening,
and showing that he listened. Whether he attended to their talk, or
tried to think of other things, or talked himself, or held his peace, or
resolutely counted the dull tickings of a hoarse clock at his back, he
always lapsed, as if a spell were on him, into eager listening.
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