The picture had remained; it hung there now crooked on its cord.
John Warlock was unconscious of the dust and disorder that surrounded him.

His own passion for personal cleanliness sprang from the early days with his father, to whom bodily cleanliness had been part of a fanatical mysticism.

Partly also by reason of that early training, sloth, drunkenness, immorality, had no power over him.

And of the whole actual world that surrounded him he was very little conscious except that he hated towns and longed always for air and space.
So that the windows were open one room was to him as another.
He had often, during his work with the members of his community, been conscious of his ignorance of the impulses and powers that went up to make the ordinary sensual physical life of the normal man.

His own troubles, trials, failures were so utterly of another kind that in this other world his imagination refused to aid him.