But now the child was hidden from him. He thought of nothing but Clare, of her suffering and terror, of her waiting there so helplessly for the dreadful moment of supreme pain. The love that he had now for Clare was something more tender, more devoted, than he had ever felt for any human being. His mind flew back fiercely to that night of his first quarrel when she had told him. Now he was to be punished for his heartlessness and cruelty ... by her loss. His agony and terror grew as he paced beneath the dark and bending trees. He sat down on a seat, at the other end of which was a little man with a bowler hat, spectacles and his coat collar turned up. He was a shabby little man and his thin bony hands beat restlessly upon his knees. The little man said, “Good evening, sir.” “Good evening,” said Peter, staring desperately in front of him. “It's all this blasted government--” “I beg your pardon--” “This blasted government--This income tax and all--” “It's more than that,” said Peter, wishing that the man would cease beating his knees with his hands-- “It's them blasted stars--it's Gawd. That's what it is. Curse Gawd--that's what I say--Curse Gawd!” “What's He done?” said Peter. “I've just broken in my wife's 'ead with a poker. Killed 'er I expect--I dunno--going back to see in a minute--” “Why did you do it?” “'Ad to--always nagging--that's what she was--always nagging. Wanted things--all sorts o' things--and there were always children coming--So we 'ad a blasted argyment this evening and I broke 'er 'ead open--Gawd did it--that's what I say--” Peter said nothing. “You can call a bloomin' copper if you want to,” the little man said. “It's no business of mine,” said Peter and he got up and left him. All shadows--only the sinister noise that London makes is real, that and Clare's suffering. He left the Park turned into Knightsbridge and came upon a toyshop. The shutters had not been put up and the lights of a lamp shone full upon its windows. Against the iron railings opposite and the high white road these toys stood with sharp, distinct outline behind the slanting light of the glass. There were dolls--a fine wedding doll, orange blossom, lace and white silk, and from behind it all, the sharp pinched features and black beady eyes stared out.... There was a Swiss doll with bright red cheeks, red and green clothing and shoes with shining buckles. Then there were the more ordinary dolls--and gradually down the length of the window, their clothing was taken from them until at last some wooden creatures with flaring cheeks and brazen eyes kicked their limbs and defied the proprieties. He would be a Boy ... he would not care about dolls....