"I'm going." He followed her down the darkness of the sands.

He did not come to her.
He seemed scarcely aware of her existence.

And she was afraid of him, and disliked him.
In the same acute daze they went back to Nottingham.

He was always busy, always doing something, always going from one to the other of his friends.
On the Monday he went to see Baxter Dawes.

Listless and pale, the man rose to greet the other, clinging to his chair as he held out his hand.
"You shouldn't get up," said Paul.
Dawes sat down heavily, eyeing Morel with a sort of suspicion.
"Don't you waste your time on me," he said, "if you've owt better to do." "I wanted to come," said Paul.