"You'll be a good man, Robin—but listen to your father—he knows—he'll show you how to be a Trojan."
For a moment he held the wrinkled, shrivelled hand in his own, and then he stepped back. Clare bent down and kissed her father, and then kneeled down by the bed; Robin had a mad longing to laugh as he saw his uncle and aunt kneeling there, their heads made enormous shadows on the wall.
Harry also bent down and kissed his father; the old man held his hand and kept it—
"I've tried to be a fair man and a gentleman—I've not been a good one. But I've had some fun and seen life—thank God, I was born a Trojan—so will the rest of you. Harry, my boy, you're all right—you'll do. I'm going, but I don't regret anything—your sins are experience—and the greatest sin of all is not having any."
His lips closed—as the fire flashed with the falling of a cavern of blazing coal his head rolled back on to the pillow.
Suddenly he smiled—
"Dear old Harry!" he said, and then he died.
The shadows from the fire leapt and danced on the wall, and the kneeling figures by the bed flung grotesque shapes over the dead man.