He stood hesitating at this familiar point, where he had so often hesitated before. This, however, was the first time he had done so on leaving Blacksod. “I don’t think it would seem absurd to Christie,” he said to himself, “if I went in for half-an-hour before going out there? I don’t suppose it would make her feel that anything was wrong in Preston Lane?” He put these questions to himself while he stood facing the east wind, turning up his collar with one hand, as he clutched stick and manuscript with the other; and as he did so he thought once more of William of Deloraine burdened with the magician’s book.