XXIVMy sense of how he received this suffered for a minute fromsomething that I can describe only as a fierce split of myattention—a stroke that at first, as I sprang straight up,reduced me to the mere blind movement of getting holdof him,drawing him close, and, while I just fell for support against thenearest piece of furniture, instinctively keeping him with his backto the window. The appearance was full upon us that I had alreadyhad to deal with here: Peter Quint had come into view like asentinel before a prison. The next thing I saw was that, fromoutside, he had reached the window, and then I knew that, close tothe glass and glaring in through it, he offered once more to theroom his white face of damnation. It representsbut grossly whattook place within me at the sight to say that on t
