A little farther on, when they turned into Franklin Street, he saw that the old print shop was in darkness, except for the lights in the rooms of the caretaker and the lodgers in the upper storey.

Corinna had gone home, he supposed, and he wondered idly if she were with Benham?
As they went on they passed the house of the Blairs, where he caught a glimpse of Margaret on the porch, parting from the handsome young clergyman.

The sight stirred him strangely, as if the memory of his dead life had been awakened by a scent or a faded flower in a book.

How different he was from the boy Margaret had known in that primitive period which people defined as "before the war"! It was as if he had belonged then to some primary emotional stratum of life.

All the complex forces, the play and interplay of desire and repulsion, of energy and lassitude, had developed in the last two or three years.
On either side, softly shaded lights were shining from the windows, and women, in rich furs, were getting out of luxurious cars.