drift. Sometime I shall strand somewhere, I expect. For the present, I drift.
And the man, with his head against Natalia’s knees, stared westward towards that world beyond the golden haze, and his mind ran back, half amusedly, half contemptuously, over the life he had lived there. It seemed to him such a pallid, unillumined life — such an aimless, bloodless puttering about. He thought of the man whom he had killed, and the thought awakened in him no compunction, no emotion. He thought of the woman for whose sake he had killed him, and his blood did not stir, though he had considered himself in love with her for some years. Love! he almost laughed aloud. Who was he, in those alien days, that he should know what love was?
appears to be illustrated by J(ames). Ayton Symington (c1856-1939)
wikipedia : link
epigram from Part 4 “Miramar” : 571 : link
The story was not published as a book; all six parts that ran in The Windsor Magazine are listed/linked — together with some context and further extracts, at 294a.