“The church,” said I, “is rotten. I suppose they’ll stand all over the country like this, soon—with peacocks trailing the graveyards.”
“Ay,” he muttered, taking no notice of me.
“This stone is cold,” I said, rising.
He got up too, and stretched his arms as if he were tired. It was quite dark, save for the waxing moon which leaned over the east.
“It is a very fine night,” I said. “Don’t you notice a smell of violets?”
“Ay! The moon looks like a woman with child. I wonder what Time’s got in her belly.”
“You?” I said. “You don’t expect anything exciting do you?”
“Exciting!—No—about as exciting as this rotten old place—just rot off—Oh, my God!—I’m like a good house, built and finished, and left to tumble down again with nobody to live in it.”
“Why—what’s up—really?”
He laughed bitterly, saying, “Come and sit down.”