A sigh of unutterable relief shivered through Wolf’s nerves as they relaxed and yielded. He drew back from the window and began with an almost catlike movement licking his hurt knuckles.

His whole being seemed dissolving into some lovely liquid-floating substance, lighter than human flesh, and he became capable of thinking now with every portion of his identity, easily, freely, spontaneously.

“I’ve learnt one thing tonight,” he thought, as he crossed the room and felt about in the darkness for the handle of the door. “I’ve learnt that one can’t always get help by sinking into one’s own soul. It’s sometimes necessary to escape from oneself altogether.”

He ran down the little staircase with happy agility. He burst into the kitchen, where he found Gerda placidly and abstractedly polishing her knives and forks.

“How long you⁠—” she began; but the words were stopped upon her mouth by an imprint of impetuous, almost boisterous kisses.