18
THE MAN WHO LAUGHS.
sive, content, and dreaming, enveloped in a haze of divine joy, paced backwards and forwards in front of the half-open door. Of what was he thinking? Of Dea—of nothing—of everything. He never wandered far from the Green Box, being held, as by an invisible thread, to Dea. A few steps away from it was far enough for him. When he returned, he generally found all the inmates of the Green Box asleep, and so went straight to bed himself.
