Jacob remained standing.

But intimacy--the room was full of it, still, deep, like a pool.

Without need of movement or speech it rose softly and washed over everything, mollifying, kindling, and coating the mind with the lustre of pearl, so that if you talk of a light, of Cambridge burning, it's not languages only.

It's Julian the Apostate.
But Jacob moved.

He murmured good-night.