He was too tired, too hot, and too disgusted to proceed, and dropping his suit case he sat down under the open roof of the shed prepared to wait either for the train or daylight.

So far as he could see, on every side of him stretched a swamp, silent, dismal, interminable.

From its black water rose dead trees, naked of bark and hung with streamers of funereal moss.

There was not a sound or sign of human habitation.

The silence was the silence of the ocean at night David remembered the berth reserved for him on the train to Tampa and of the loathing with which he had considered placing himself between its sheets.