I feel in a lot bigger mess than you." "In what way, lad ?" "I don't know.

I don't know.

It's as if I was in a tangled sort of hole, rather dark and dreary, and no road anywhere." "I know--I understand it," Dawes said, nodding.

"But you'll find it'll come all right." He spoke caressingly.
"I suppose so," said Paul.
Dawes knocked his pipe in a hopeless fashion.
"You've not done for yourself like I have," he said.
Morel saw the wrist and the white hand of the other man gripping the stem of the pipe and knocking out the ash, as if he had given up.
"How old are you ?" Paul asked.
"Thirty-nine," replied Dawes, glancing at him.
Those brown eyes, full of the consciousness of failure, almost pleading for reassurance, for someone to re-establish the man in himself, to warm him, to set him up firm again, troubled Paul.
"You'll just be in your prime," said Morel.

"You don't look as if much life had gone out of you." The brown eyes of the other flashed suddenly.
"It hasn't," he said.