“Occasional taxis clatter by over the lumps of ice. People passing on the pavements, heavily wrapped in overcoats, hats pulled low over their ears, keep their heads down to avoid stumbling on the ridged snow. All business seems to have closed down. Every day now like a Sunday in winter. Larry returns to his room in Camberwell and lights the gas fire. It burns at low pressure, taking a long time to warm the chill air. Everything is cold to his touch, the covers on his bed, his books, his paints. ...He looks at the canvas he had begun before going to Sussex, and sees at once that it has no life in it. His room too, despite his return, has no life in it. Suddenly he wants very much to see Nell. He phones Weingard’s gallery and a female voice answers. The gallery is closed. No, she doesn’t know where Nell is. He writes a note to her, telling her he’s back, and walks up the road to the post office on Church Street to send it. From there he goes on to the pub on the corner. It’s a Monday and early for the evening crowd.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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