In all his life he had never realized a dream; but the thought had never before hurt him. "All life is a muddle, and we are all muddlers, more or less. Do you remember when we went right away, Nigel, and forgot everything? We went down the river past Veraz, and the larks were singing all over those deep brown fields, and the river further on wound its way like a coil of silver across the rich meadowland, and along the hillside vineyards. out of the ten or twelve people one meets in a month not only say but feel and assume a thing, it is very hard not to fall into the belief that the thing is so. I saw him yesterday, and he told me he shouldn't stir from home for a week to come.
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