Trilby · Part 4 (5/5)

At the bottom of it all was a vague, disquieting unhappiness, a constant fidget.

And it seemed to him, and much to his distress, that such mild unhappiness would be the greatest he could ever feel henceforward⁠—but that, such as it was, it would never leave him, and that his moral existence would be forevermore one long, gray, gloomy blank⁠—the glimmer of twilight⁠—never glad, confident morning again!

So much for Little Billee’s convalescence.

Then one day in the late autumn he spread his wings and flew away to London, which was very ready with open arms to welcome William Bagot, the already famous painter, alias Little Billee!