. The book of months . wet, that my hair had to be brushed from myeyes, that rain-drops fell from my eyebrows ontomy face, that a torn, distracted, mud-coveredblackness represented dress - trousers, that mycoat was lying somewhere on the lawn, and thatmy bedroom window was an invitation to rob-bers. So I rose and walked back slowly, anddesignedly slowly, in order to enjoy what I hadnot known I had enjoyed before, but had simplytaken. The cool rain was exquisite to the skin;so, too, the cool grass to the feet. The nightabove and around was huge and silent and en-nobling. Then the moral consciou
. The book of months . wet, that my hair had to be brushed from myeyes, that rain-drops fell from my eyebrows ontomy face, that a torn, distracted, mud-coveredblackness represented dress - trousers, that mycoat was lying somewhere on the lawn, and thatmy bedroom window was an invitation to rob-bers. So I rose and walked back slowly, anddesignedly slowly, in order to enjoy what I hadnot known I had enjoyed before, but had simplytaken. The cool rain was exquisite to the skin;so, too, the cool grass to the feet. The nightabove and around was huge and silent and en-nobling. Then the moral consciousness, I mustsuppose, awoke. I was filled with edifyingthoughts. They would be dull if recorded; theywere dull even then, for the memory of the sav-age moments was still hot as a dream. Well—what then. There is no what then. That wild running through the dark is flesh and blood of me. Perhaps you have no taste for cannibalism. That is a very comfortable defect. 49 A-34 \.: ■ri*^ :m.
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