So he sharpened a score of pencils, and after fiddling about and rewriting the last page he had written the previous night, he plunged into work. ” In the car, John was wound up. Wood set off at full speed from the Mint, and, hurrying he scarce knew whither (for there was such a continual buzzing in his ears and dancing in his eyes, as almost to take away the power of reflection), he held on at a brisk pace till his strength completely failed him. To dream and to labour: to you, my labour; to Ruth, my dreams. And behind— there was Paris, memories of amazing things, memories which made his cheeks burn and his heart beat quickly as he sat there waiting for her.
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