It forced him to admit that his tortured soul had a fleshly garment and that the fleshly garment was soaked to the marrow.

And his soul gradually yielded before the attack of the rain, and he went home.
He put his latchkey into the door with minute precautions against noise, and crept into his house like a thief, and very gently shut the door.
Then, in the hall, he intently listened.

Not a sound! That is to say, not a sound except the drippings of his hat on the linoleum.

The sitting-room door was ajar.

He timidly pushed it, and entered.