Crazy Radio eBooks

Then rising they towered, lifting brawny arms
towards the stars. Silence seemed to flow from them, to exude from
their labors. And in the swiftness of their movements there was
something that was sad. Or was it, perhaps, only pathetic, wistful
with the wistfulness of the sea and of all nocturnal things? Artois
did not ask, but his attention, the attention of mind and soul, was
held by these distant voiceless beings as by a magic. And Vere was
still as he was, tense as he was. All the poetry that lay beneath his
realism, all the credulity that slept below his scepticism, all the
ignorance that his knowledge strove to dominate, had its wild moment
of liberty under the smiling stars. The lights moved and swayed. Now
the seamed rock, with its cold veins and slimy crevices was gilded,
its nudity clothed with fire. Now on the water a trail of glory fell,
and travelled and died. Now the red men were utterly revealed, one
watching with an ardor that was surely not of this world, some secret
in the blackness, another turning as if to strike in defence of his
companion.


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