It was therefore necessary that he should sleep at night in order to work by day, and he reluctantly turned his footsteps towards home.

As he walked, he thought of all that had happened since five o'clock in the afternoon, and of all that he had learned in the course of the night.

Vjera's story interested him and touched him, and her acts seemed to remind him of something which he nevertheless could not quite remember.

Far down in his toughened nature the strings of a forgotten poetry vibrated softly as though they would make music if they dared.

Far back in the chain of memories, the memory once best loved was almost awake once more, the link of once clasped hands was almost alive again, the tender pressure of fingers now perhaps long dead was again almost a reality able to thrill body and soul.