I have pinned
My enemy stark
To the stars and the empty wind.
His light is dark.
His dreams are dead. His dear
And his dreams are dead.
Edward had long arranged to have a party next evening. The preparations were very laborious and dull, like those for almost all parties given by shy and homeless young men in conscientious return for accumulated hospitalities. Everybody in Edward’s circle had been invited such a long time ago that no excuses had been possible. Had Edward not reminded his friends constantly of the impending event they would by now have forgotten all about it.
In the morning at two o’clock Edward woke and realised with a sickening explosion of the mind that his party was certain to be an absolute and ridiculous failure. “Me, a host to twenty people? I can’t even take the responsibility of being a good guest....” He had made a great resolve. “I will invite Emily.”
He hoped that he would die before the party. As a solver of problems it is a fact that death has been over-rated. Edward miserably survived. He had spent three dollars out of his last few score on a room in a hotel in one of the eastern bay cities. He had missed the last Ferry home the night before. He took an unreasonably early Ferry back to San Francisco.