In the evening he wandered a few paces into the gloom.

From this little distance the many fires, with the black forms of men passing to and fro before the crimson rays, made weird and satanic effects.
He lay down in the grass.

The blades pressed tenderly against his cheek.

The moon had been lighted and was hung in a treetop.

The liquid stillness of the night enveloping him made him feel vast pity for himself.