He was, in fact, strangely pursued by an unreasonable desire to fly in the face of Doctor Levillier's advice, and of his own secondary antagonistic desire, and to sit again with Julian.

Everything in which he sought to find distraction, lacked savour.

As he sat watching a ballet that glittered with electricity, and was one twinkle of coloured movement, he found himself longing for the silence, the gloom, the live expectation of the tentroom, night, and Julian.

At White's the conversation of the men struck him as even more scrappy, more desultorily scandalous, than usual.
His morning ride was an active _ennui_, an _ennui_ revolving, like a horse in a circus, round and round the weariness of the park.
Yet he had made up his mind quite fully that it would be better not to sit any more.

It was not merely Doctor Levillier's urgency that had impressed him thus.