"All right, gluck Zu!" And so shuffled out.

Latent fever?
Doubtless, yet hardly from broken bones, the doctor thought,--with no suspicion of the subtile, intolerable passion smouldering in every drop of this man's phlegmatic blood.
Evening came at last.

He stopped until the cracked bell of the chapel had done striking the Angelus, and then put on his overcoat, and went out.

Passing down the garden walk a miserable chicken staggered up to him, chirping a drunken recognition.

For a moment, he breathed again the hot smoke of the mill, remembering how Lois had found him in Margret's office, not forgetting the cage: chary of this low life, even in the peril of his own.