He found himself, next, slipping northward between the glazed walls of the Subway

He stood at the corner of Wall Street, looking up and down its hot summer perspective. He noticed the swirls of dust in the cracks of the pavement, the rubbish in the gutters, the ceaseless stream of perspiring faces that poured by under tilted hats.
He found himself, next, slipping northward between the glazed walls of the Subway, another languid crowd in the seats about him and the nasal yelp of the stations ringing through the car like some repeated ritual wail. The blindness within him seemed to have intensified his physical perceptions, his sensitiveness to the heat, the noise, the smells of the dishevelled midsummer city; but combined with the acuter perception of these offenses was a complete indifference to them, as though he were some vivisected animal deprived of the power of discrimination.
Now he had turned into Waverly Place, and was walking westward toward Washington Square. At the corner he pulled himself up, saying half-aloud: "The office--I ought to be at the office." He drew out his watch and stared at it blankly. What the devil had he taken it out for? He had to go through a laborious process of readjustment to find out what it had to say.... Twelve o'clock.... Should he turn back to the office? It seemed easier to cross the square, go up the steps of the old house and slip his key into the door....
The house was empty. His mother, a few days previously, had departed with Mr. Dagonet for their usual two months on the Maine coast, where Ralph was to join them with his boy.... The blinds were all drawn down, and the freshness and silence of the marble-paved hall laid soothing hands on him.... He said to himself: "I'll jump into a cab presently, and go and lunch at the club--" He laid down his hat and stick and climbed the carpetless stairs to his room. When he entered it he had the shock of feeling himself in a strange place: it did not seem like anything he had ever seen before. Then, one by one, all the old stale usual things in it confronted him, and he longed with a sick intensity to be in a place that was really strange.
"How on earth can I go on living here?" he wondered.
A careless servant had left the outer shutters open, and the sun was beating on the window-panes. Ralph pushed open the windows, shut the shutters, and wandered toward his arm-chair. Beads of perspiration stood on his forehead: the temperature of the room reminded him of the heat under the ilexes of the Sienese villa where he and Undine had sat through a long July afternoon. He saw her before him, leaning against the tree-trunk in her white dress, limpid and inscrutable.... "We were made one at Opake, Nebraska...." Had she been thinking of it that afternoon at Siena, he wondered? Did she ever think of it at all?... It was she who had asked Moffatt to dine. She had said: "Father brought him home one day at Apex.... I don't remember ever having seen him since"--and the man she spoke of had had her in his arms ... and perhaps it was really all she remembered!