The boy--for what else was thirty to seventy-six ?--was taking it hard, whatever it might be, taking it very hard! He was that sort--ran till he dropped.

The worst kind to help--the sort that made for trouble--that let things gnaw at them! And there flashed before the old man's mind the image of Prometheus devoured by the eagle.

It was his favourite tragedy, which he still read periodically, in the Greek, helping himself now and then out of his old lexicon to the meaning of some word which had flown to Erebus.

Yes, Eustace was a fellow for the heights and depths! He said quietly: "You don't care to talk about it, I suppose ?" Miltoun shook his head, and again there was silence.
The buzzard hawk having seen them move, quivered his wings like a moth's, and deserted that plane of air.

A robin from the dappled warmth of a mossy stone, was regarding them instead.