“After all,” he argued, “those gulfs of watery blue up there are such an unthinkable background to all this, that they⁠ ⁠… that they⁠ ⁠… a trickle of saliva more or less⁠ ⁠… a woman’s profile more or less⁠ ⁠…” And then, as he watched those painted gigs come swinging once more round the enclosure, and heard the exclamations of malicious delight, as a chestnut-coloured mare showed a vicious tendency to back her driver against the rope, a sense of terrified loneliness came upon him. What could Gerda, or his mother, or anyone else⁠—man or woman⁠—really feel toward him so that this loneliness should be eased? Emptiness leered at him, emptiness yawned at him, out of that watery blue; and what pointed spikes of misunderstanding he had to throw himself upon before this bustling day was over!