Chancing to come before the mirror, he saw that he was unusually pale, and that his eyes had a swollen look.
The profound stillness was oppressive to him; he started nervously at an undefined object in a dim corner, and went nearer to examine it; he was irritable, vaguely discontented, and had even a moment of nausea, perhaps the result of tobacco stronger than he was accustomed to smoke.
After leaning for five minutes at the open window, he felt a soothing effect from the air, and could think consecutively of the day's events.
What had happened seemed to him incredible; it was as though he revived a mad dream, of ludicrous coherence.

Since his display of rhetoric at luncheon all was downright somnambulism.

What fatal power had subdued him?
What extraordinary influence had guided his tongue, constrained his features?
His conscious self had had no part in all this comedy; now for the first time was he taking count of the character he had played.
Had he been told this morning that--Why, what monstrous folly was all this?
Into what unspeakable baseness had he fallen?
Happily, he had but to take leave of the Warricombe household, and rush into some region where he was unknown.

Years hence, he would relate the story to Earwaker.
For a long time he suffered the torments of this awakening.

Shame buffeted him on the right cheek and the left; he looked about like one who slinks from merited chastisement.