By some subtle and secret processes of the mind again there
seemed to be a change in the atmosphere of the room. Its sordid
dinginess was no longer present to our consciousness. There was new
life, heart, and vigour and, in some curious way, our mentalities
seemed merged together. No longer puzzled, we were vibrant with a
common purpose. I was angry and disgusted; Mick was moved to the inmost
sanctuary of his Celtic being. He manifested the last degree of outrage
and insult, of agonised anger. For the moment we were cleansed of all
the pettiness and grossness common to manhood, inspired only with a
new-born worship of the inviolable right of the individual to the
disposal of its own tokens of affection and life.
And this new spirit of ours pervaded the room. The girl moaned in her
drunken sleep. Twinetoes turned restlessly in bed, and the lines of his
face sharpened and deepened. Something was killing the poison in both.
Even the trio about the girl were momentarily moved by some new
sensation.
Mick's accustomed recklessness of action was gone, he was cool and
prepared to be calculating.
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