How _obliviously_ they all talked on. She thanked them. With their talk flowing across the table, giving the central golden glow of light a feeling of permanence, her failures in life, strident about the room, were visible and audible only to herself. If she could remain silent, they would die down, and the stream of her unworthy life would merge, before he appeared, into a semblance of oneness with these other lives....... She caught the dark Russian eyes of Mr. Rodkin sitting opposite. He smiled through his glasses, his dry, sweet, large-eyed smile, his head turned listening to his neighbour. She beamed her response, relieved, as if they had had a long satisfactory conversation. He would have understood ... in spite of his commercial city-life. He accepted everybody. He was the central kindliness of the room. No wonder Mrs. Bailey was so fond of him and leant upon his presence, in spite of his yawning hatred of Sundays. He was illuminated; she had his secret at last given her by Mr. Shatov. _Russian_ kindliness...... Russians understand silence and are not afraid of it? Kindly silence comes out of their speech, and lies behind it, leaving things the same whatever has been said? This would be truer of him than of Mr. Shatov ....... moy word. Shatov at the station with his father. You never saw such a thing. Talking to the old boy as if he was a porter; snapping his head off whenever he spoke...... She pulled up sharply. If she thought of him, the fact that she was only passing the time would become visible ...... what was that just now, opening; about silence? * * * * *