It seemed they just as well might NOT be as be.
The realest thing was the thick darkness at night.

That seemed to him whole and comprehensible and restful.

He could leave himself to it.
Suddenly a piece of paper started near his feet and blew along down the pavement.

He stood still, rigid, with clenched fists, a flame of agony going over him.

And he saw again the sick-room, his mother, her eyes.
Unconsciously he had been with her, in her company.