It was bewildering, perplexing, embarrassing, and for a moment he
hesitated. Then he got up. He was absurdly shaky, but his head was
clear, and in his heart humility that was new and sweet. The day was
great, and the sun was shining as on yesterday one would not have
dreamed it could ever shine again. Going over to the door, he locked
it and hurriedly began to dress. His clothes had a rough, dry
appearance that made them hardly recognizable, and to get on his
shoes, which evidently had been dried near the furnace, was difficult.
In the small mirror over the bureau, as he tied his cravat, his face
reflected varying emotions: disgust at his soiled collar, relief that
he was up again, and gratitude that made a certain cynicism, of late
becoming too well defined, fade into quiet purpose.
Unlocking the door, he went back to the window and looked across at
the long row of houses, as alike as shriveled peas in a dry pod, and
down on the snow-covered streets. Brilliantly the sun touched here and
there a bit of cornice below a dazzling gleaming roof, and threw rays
of rainbow light on window-pane and iron rail, outlined or hidden
under frozen foam; and the dirt and ugliness of the usual day were
lost in the white hush of mystery.
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