He tossed, and groaned, and dozed, and smoked cigarettes until he
could stand it no longer. He got up and dressed, in sheer desperation,
and went for a walk in the gardens.
The day was clear as a new-minted coin. It was not yet wholly aired,
not wholly free from the damp savour of night, but low in the east the
sun was taking heart. A mile-long shadow footed it with Billy Woods
in his pacings through the amber-chequered gardens. Actaeon-like, he
surprised the world at its toilet, and its fleeting grace somewhat
fortified his spirits.
But his thoughts pestered him like gnats. The things he said to the