Jeremy came over to him and, drawing him back to him, laid his head upon his knee and so held him.

Hamlet did not move, save occasionally to sigh, and, once or twice, to snap in a sudden way that he had at an imaginary fly.
He thought that in all probability his master had been punished for something, and in this he was deeply sympathetic, never seeing why his master need be punished for anything and resenting the stupidity of human beings with their eternal desire to be, in some way or other, asserting their authority.
Gradually, in front of the hot fire, both boy and dog fell asleep.
Jeremy's dreams were confused, bewildered, distressing; he was struggling to find something, was always climbing higher and higher to discover it, only to be told that, in the end, he was in the place where he had begun.
Hamlet's dream was of an enormous succulent bone that was pulled away from him so soon as he snapped at it.

They both awoke with a start to find that it was time for high tea.
III Throughout the evening Jeremy was more and more lonely.

He had never before felt so deep an affection for the family and never been so utterly unable to express it.

It was as though, during the whole year he had, by his own will, been slipping away from them, and now they had gone too far for him to call them back.
He sat on the floor at his mother's feet whilst she read "Midshipman Easy." It was all so cosy, the room was so comfortable with all the familiar pictures and photographs and books, and Helen and Mary diligently sewing, and Hamlet stretched out in front of the fire, his nose on his paws--six months ago Jeremy would have felt utterly and absolutely part of it.