"But--imagine yourself writing a play!"
"I couldn't."
"Well, anything that needs concentration."
"Ah!" he said, "of course," and meditated. His expression became so
eloquent of distress, that I relented still more. After all, there is a
touch of aggression in demanding of a man you don't know why he hums on
a public footpath.
"You see," he said weakly, "it's a habit."
"Oh, I recognise that."
"I must stop it."
"But not if it puts you out. After all, I had no business--it's something
of a liberty."
"Not at all, sir," he said, "not at all. I am greatly indebted to you. I
should guard myself against these things. In future I will. Could I
trouble you--once again? That noise?"
"Something like this," I said. "Zuzzoo, zuzzoo. But really, you know--"
"I am greatly obliged to you. In fact, I know I am getting absurdly
absent-minded. You are quite justified, sir--perfectly justified. Indeed,
I am indebted to you. The thing shall end. And now, sir, I have already
brought you farther than I should have done."
"I do hope my impertinence--"
"Not at all, sir, not at all."
We regarded each other for a moment. I raised my hat and wished him a good
evening. He responded convulsively, and so we went our ways.
At the stile I looked back at his receding figure. His bearing had changed
remarkably, he seemed limp, shrunken. The contrast with his former
gesticulating, zuzzoing self took me in some absurd way as pathetic.
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