youth rose in impassioned rebellion against him and, thinking to
save itself, hurled itself to destruction?

He gave one farewell glance to the dark, silent house--the grave of
the fairest hopes of all his life. Then he set out upon long, dreary,
aimless wandering through the endless, nocturnal streets.

Like shadows the shapes of night glided by him.

Shy harlots--loud roysterers--benzin flames--more harlots--and here
and there one lost in thought even as he.

An evil odour, as of singed horses' hoofs, floated over the city.....
The dust whirled under the street-cleaning machines.

The world grew silent. He was left almost alone.....

Then the life of the awakening day began to stir. A sleepy dawn crept
over the roofs....

It was the next morning.

There would be no "next mornings" for him. That was over.

Let others send Indian lilies!