his chest, that leaned against the stile, his hands on the wooden bar.
They seemed something. Where was he?--one tiny upright speck of flesh,
less than an ear of wheat lost in the field. He could not bear it.
On every side the immense dark silence seemed pressing him, so tiny
a spark, into extinction, and yet, almost nothing, he could not be
extinct. Night, in which everything was lost, went reaching out, beyond
stars and sun. Stars and sun, a few bright grains, went spinning round
for terror, and holding each other in embrace, there in a darkness
that outpassed them all, and left them tiny and daunted. So much, and
himself, infinitesimal, at the core a nothingness, and yet not nothing.
"Mother!" he whispered--"mother!"
She was the only thing that held him up, himself, amid all this. And
she was gone, intermingled herself. He wanted her to touch him, have him
alongside with her.
But no, he would not give in. Turning sharply, he walked towards the
city's gold phosphorescence. His fists were shut, his mouth set fast. He
would not take that direction, to the darkness, to follow her. He walked
towards the faintly humming, glowing town, quickly.
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