'Good Night,' Said Clive, a Sigh of Relief

Tony the man said, where are your manners? Get up and say good night. The boy rose and bowed with formality. But suffering and depravity had put their aristocratic stamp on his pallid face. There could be no doubt which of these two would be master. Clive said, good night. Don't trouble to show me out. I know the way. At the same moment, the laurel hedge caught him in a dragonish embrace. And remembering the rabbit hutches, he went on more cautiously. It was the ambiguous interval of winter, nightfall, when one seems to be wading through darkness as through knee high water while there is still light overhead. Soon it