A new vista of life was thus opened up, a promised land of talk, where he could find a harbour against the waves of anticipation and regret; where he could soothe his soul with the opium of devising how to round off his property and make eternal the only part of him that was to remain alive.
Young Jolyon was a good listener; it was his great quality.

He kept his eyes fixed on his father's face, putting a question now and then.
The clock struck one before old Jolyon had finished, and at the sound of its striking his principles came back.

He took out his watch with a look of surprise: "I must go to bed, Jo," he said.
Young Jolyon rose and held out his hand to help his father up.

The old face looked worn and hollow again; the eyes were steadily averted.
"Good-bye, my boy; take care of yourself." A moment passed, and young Jolyon, turning on his, heel, marched out at the door.

He could hardly see; his smile quavered.