A troubled look came over his pole-cat face.
"I must go home," he said at last.

"I will send you this immediately.
Your paper can appear a little later, if necessary." He walked slowly on his way home, lost in meditation.

He was again giving way to indecision.

Why should he veer round so quickly?
Eugene was an intelligent fellow, but his mother had perhaps exaggerated the significance of some sentence in his letter.

In any case, it would be better to wait and hold his tongue.
An hour later Angele called at the bookseller's, feigning deep emotion.
"My husband has just severely injured himself," she said.