THE WINDOWover the intensity of his gaze and obscured the letterR. In that flash of darkness he heard people saying —he was a failure — that R was beyond him. He wouldnever reach R. On to R, once more. R —

Qualities that in a desolate expedition across the icysolitudes of the Polar region would have made himthe leader, the guide, the counsellor, whose temper,neither sanguine nor despondent, surveys with equa-nimity what is to be and faces it, came to his helpagain. R —

The lizard’s eye flickered once more. The veins onhis forehead bulged. The geranium in the urn becamestartlingly visible and, displayed among its leaves, hecould see, without wishing it, that old, that obviousdistinction between the two classes of men; on the onehand the steady goers of superhuman strength who,plodding and persevering, repeat the whole alphabetin order, twenty-six letters in all, from start to finish;on the other the gifted, the inspired who, miraculously,lump all the letters together in one flash — the way ofgenius. He had not genius; he laid no claim to that:but he had, or might have had, the power to repeatevery letter of the alphabet from A to Z accurately inorder. Meanwhile, he stuck at Q. On, then, on to R.

Feelings that would not have disgraced a leaderwho, now that the snow has begun to fall and themountain-top is covered in mist, knows that he mustlay himself down and die before morning comes, stoleupon him, paling the colour of his eyes, giving him,even in the two minutes of his turn on the terrace, thebleached look of withered old age. Yet he would notdie lying down; he would find some crag of rock, andthere, his eyes fixed on the storm, trying to the end to43
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