To-night there had been
everything,--even to an unnecessary entree. He laid down a spoon on his
plate, glad that the frozen pudding--of whatever sort--was disposed of. Too
much of everything after too little. The people opposite were far away;
their murmuring had become a mumbling, and he wished it was all over. The
granddaughter at his elbow was less rewarding than ever, less justificatory
of the effortful small-talk which he had put forth with more and more
labor, and which he could scarcely put forth now at all. What was it he was
meaning to do later? To sing? Absurd! Impossible! His head ached; he felt
faint and dizzy....
"We will leave you gentlemen to your cigars," he heard a distant voice
saying; and he was conscious for an instant that his hostess was looking
down the table at him with a face of startled concern....
"Don't try to lead him out," a deep voice said. "Lay him on the floor."
He felt himself lowered; some small rug was doubled and redoubled and
placed under his head; a large, firm hand was laid to his wrist; and
something--a napkin dipped in a glass of water and then folded?--was put to
his forehead.
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