BOOK THE SECOND - REAPING
3. Chapter Iii - the Whelp (continued)
'Yes, it's too mild,' returned his entertainer.
'It's - it's ridiculously mild,' said Tom. 'Where's the door!
'He had another odd dream of being taken by a waiter through a
mist, which, after giving him some trouble and difficulty, resolved
itself into the main street, in which he stood alone. He then
walked home pretty easily, though not yet free from an impression
of the presence and influence of his new friend - as if he were
lounging somewhere in the air, in the same negligent attitude,
regarding him with the same look.
The whelp went home, and went to bed. If he had had any sense of
what he had done that night, and had been less of a whelp and more
of a brother, he might have turned short on the road, might have
gone down to the ill-smelling river that was dyed black, might have
gone to bed in it for good and all, and have curtained his head for
ever with its filthy waters.