Tosleeplikethatchild！Hepressedaparttworungsofthevenetianblindandlookedout。Themoonwasrising，blood-red。Hehadneverseensoredamoon。Thewoodsandfieldsoutthereweredroppingtosleeptoo，inthelastglimmerofthesummerlight。
Andbeauty，likeaspirit，walked。’I’vehadalonglife，’hethought，’thebestofnearlyeverything。I’manungratefulchap；
I’veseenalotofbeautyinmytime。PooryoungBosinneysaidI
hadasenseofbeauty。There’samaninthemoonto-night！’A
mothwentby，another，another。’Ladiesingrey！’Heclosedhiseyes。Afeelingthathewouldneveropenthemagainbesethim；heletitgrow，lethimselfsink；then，withashiver，draggedthelidsup。Therewassomethingwrongwithhim，nodoubt，deeplywrong；hewouldhavetohavethedoctorafterall。Itdidn’tmuchmatternow！Intothatcoppicethemoon-lightwouldhavecrept；