It was always worse towards evening--an agony of longing, regret, fury, vague jealousy and desire.
He stood and looked out of the window again at the crowd, hurrying along now to their pleasures or their happy homes.

So many people in the world, like stars in the sky--why want the one star only?
Why cry for the moon?
He had no photograph of her, but he still thought she was like his mother's miniature, and often looked at it.

He wished he wasn't going to dine with that young man tonight.

Aylmer was the most genial and sociable of men; he usually disliked being alone; yet just now being with people bored him; it seemed an interruption.

He was going through a crisis.
Yes; he could not stand anyone this evening.