And then Rodney was announced.
The unreality of the situation persisted. Rodney's strained face
and uneasy manner, his uniform, the blank pause when he had learned
that Graham was better, and when the ordinary banalities of greeting
were over. Beside Clayton he looked small, dapper, and wretchedly
uncomfortable, and yet even Clayton had to acknowledge a sort of
dignity in the man.
He felt sorry for him, for the disillusion that was to come. And
at the same time he felt an angry contempt for him, that he should
have forced so theatrical a situation. That the night which saw
Graham's beginning recovery should be tarnished by the wild clutch
after happiness of two people who had done so little to earn it.
He saw another, totally different scene, for a moment. He saw
Graham in his narrow bed that night in some dimly-lighted hospital
ward, and he saw Audrey beside him, watching and waiting and praying.
A wild desire to be over there, one of that little group, almost
overcame him.
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