The fresh arena of spring blossoms softened the crisp morning air with a pleasant perfume; feathered throats chirped happily in pursuit of the early worm.
The swelling chorus of happiness without aroused no responsive quiver in Collins's heart.

It hung within him, a leaden weight coiled with bitterness and hate.

His mind was a blazing furnace of furious resentment, emitting sparks of rage that kindled other fires in the storehouse of his emotions, until his temper seemed to reflect the conflict of all tempers.
The shrill call of a letter-carrier's whistle banished the silent fury into which he had worked himself.

A thrill of expectancy shot down his frame.

Donning his bathrobe and slippers he stepped into the hallway and listened.