Vida, with compassionate eyes on the retreating figure of Guthrie, stopped Clark with a gesture.
“That’s final,” she said. “He’s crushed. There’s no use torturing him.”
THE CARDINAL’S GARDEN
Villa Albani
Witter Bynner
Here in this place which I myself did plan,
With poplars, oaks and fountains,—and with sculpture,
The rounded body of the soul of beauty—
Here in this garden, by my own command
I sit alone under the freshening twilight.