After a fortnight of intensive work, Roger Halsey's days blurred¹ into each other and passed by in blocks of twos and threes and fours. From eight until 5.30 he was in his office. Then a half-hour on the commuting² train, where he scrawled³ notes on the backs of envelopes under the dull yellow light. By 7.30 his crayons, shears⁴, and sheets of white cardboard were spread over the living-room table, and he labored⁶ there with much grunting⁷ and sighing until midnight, while Gretchen lay on the sofa with a book, and the door-bell tinkled⁸ occasionally behind the drawn⁹ blinds. At twelve there was always an argument as to whether he would come to bed. He would agree to come after he had cleared up everything; but as he was invariably sidetracked by half a dozen new ideas, he usually found Gretchen sound asleep when he tiptoed up-stairs.