"Doctor tells a
man he's well, and that's his death sentence, likely. Dam' funny
world!"
Bibbs decided to walk home, though Gurney had not instructed him upon
this point. In fact, Gurney seemed to have no more instructions on
any point, so discouraging was the young man's improvement. It was a
dingy afternoon, and the smoke was evident not only to Bibbs's sight,
but to his nostrils, though most of the pedestrians were so saturated
with the smell they could no longer detect it. Nearly all of them
walked hurriedly, too intent upon their destinations to be more than
half aware of the wayside; they wore the expressions of people under
a vague yet constant strain. They were all lightly powdered, inside
and out, with fine dust and grit from the hard-paved streets, and they
were unaware of that also. They did not even notice that they saw the
smoke, though the thickened air was like a shrouding mist. And when
Bibbs passed the new "Sheridan Apartments," now almost completed, he
observed that the marble of the vestibule was already streaky with
soot, like his gloves, which were new.
That recalled to him the faint odor of gasolene in the coupe on the
way from his brother's funeral, and this incited a train of thought
which continued till he reached the vicinity of his home.
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