To
what a blank no-thoroughfare he had brought himself. What a damnable
mess he had made of his peaceful, happy home.
Of course he had known for a long time what was the matter with him.
His disgust with himself at the revelation of his own weakness dated
from a long time ago; but the progress of his passing from perfectly
pure and normal thoughts about the girl to cravings that he struggled
with as morbid impurities was so subtle that it defied analysis. At
first when he put his hand on her head, or patted her shoulder, every
thought behind the fatherly gesture was itself fatherly; and then,
without anything to startle one by a recognition of change, the time
had come when he felt a slight thrill in touching her, when he was
always seeking occasions or excuses for doing it, when the wider the
contact the more massive was his satisfaction. Her white neck, her
round fore-arms, her thin wrists, irresistibly attracted a caress. He
could not keep his hands off her--and it distressed and worried him
whenever he saw anybody else doing quite innocently what he did with
an unavowable purpose. Perhaps this was the real cause of his dislike
for the new pastor. After Mr. Furnival's initial appearance at the
chapel, they all three walked a little way together, and the
good-looking young man paid Norah compliments about her singing, and
held her hand and patted it.
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