He had great difficulty in writing anything that seemed tolerable.

Yet done it must be, and done it was; and before going to bed he had dropped his letter into the post.

He durst not leave it for reperusal in the morning light.
Then came torture of expectancy.

The whole man aching, sore, with impatience; reason utterly fled, intellect bemused and baffled; a healthy, competent citizen of nigh middle age set all at once in the corner, crowned with a fool's cap, twiddling his thumbs in nervous fury.

Dolorous spectacle, and laughable withal.
He waited four-and-twenty hours, then clutched at Alma's reply.