He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. She had called the police on them anonymously. No breakfast, he’s had no dinner, hardly a mouthful of soup— since yesterday at tea. As soon as he gets into blue water, he'll think no more of pitching the boy overboard than of lighting his pipe.
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