Moreover, the spirit of a festival
was abroad, and visible in the costume and faces of passers-by; and
it was the first festival of the year. Rachel responded to it eagerly,
mingling her happiness with the general exultation. She was intensely,
unreasonably happy. She knew that she was unreasonably happy; and she
did not mind.
When she turned into Friendly Street the big black double gates of
the works were shut, but in one of them a little door stood ajar.
She pushed it, stooped, and entered the twilight of the archway. The
office door was shut. She walked uncertain up the archway into the
yard, and through a dirty window on her left she could dimly discern
a man gesticulating. She decided that he must be Horrocleave. She
hesitated, and then, slightly confused, thought, "Perhaps I'd better
go back to the archway and knock at the office door."
III
In the inner office, among art-lustre ware, ink-stained wood, dusty
papers, and dirt, Jim Horrocleave banged down a petty-cash book on to
Louis' desk. His hat was at the back of his head, and his eyes blazed
at Louis, who stood somewhat limply, with a hesitant, foolish, faint
smile on his face.
"That's enough!" said Horrocleave fiercely.
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