One night he returned from the theatre and a succeeding supper party at half-past twelve, let himself into the flat with a latchkey, threw off his coat and stood before the fire.

His usually smooth, white forehead was puckered in a frown.

He contemplated the inevitable hours of bed with dissatisfaction.

When a man has allowed a vice to obtain dominion over him there are moments when an enforced abstinence from it, even of only a few hours, seems intolerably irksome.

So Valentine felt now.
It seemed to him that he must sit again; that he could not go to bed, could not rest and sleep, until he gratified his desire.