Lawrence
returned, therefore, that afternoon with a strange sense of quiet and
security.
"It was almost, you know, as though this tommy-rot about a White
Revolution might be true after all--with this jolly old Duma and their
jolly old Kerensky runnin' the show. Of course I'd seen the nonsense
about their not salutin' the officers and all that, but I didn't think
any fellers alive would be such dam fools.... I might have known
better."
He let himself into the flat and found there a death-like stillness--no
one about and no sound except the tickings of the large clock in the
drawing-room.
He wandered into that horribly impressive place and suddenly sat down on
the sofa with a realisation of extreme physical fatigue. He didn't know
why he was so tired, he had felt quite "bobbish" all the week; suddenly
now his limbs were like water, he had a bad ache down his spine and his
legs were as heavy as lead. He sat in a kind of trance on that sofa, he
was not asleep, but he was also, quite certainly, not awake. He wondered
why the place was so "beastly still" after all the noise there had been
all the week.
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