I dream of her often, but it seems quite nice and natural, as if nothing had altered." But Morel crouched in front of the fire in terror.
The weeks passed half-real, not much pain, not much of anything, perhaps a little relief, mostly a _nuit blanche_.

Paul went restless from place to place.

For some months, since his mother had been worse, he had not made love to Clara.

She was, as it were, dumb to him, rather distant.
Dawes saw her very occasionally, but the two could not get an inch across the great distance between them.

The three of them were drifting forward.
Dawes mended very slowly.