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The Private Papers of Henry Ryecroft
·
George Gissing
184
II.
I
came
home
this
afternoon
just
at
twilight,
and,
feeling
tired
after
my
walk,
a
little
cold
too,
I
first
crouched
before
the
fire,
then
let
myself
drop
lazily
upon
the
hearthrug.
I
had
a
book
in
my
hand,
and
began
to
read
it
by
the
firelight.
Rising
in
a
few
minutes,
I
found
the
open
page
still
legible
by
the
pale
glimmer
of
day.
This
sudden
change
of
illumination
had
an
odd
effect
upon
me;
it
was
so
unexpected,
for
I
had
forgotten
that
dark
had
not
yet
fallen.
And
I
saw
in
the
queer
little
experience
an
intellectual
symbol.
The
book
was
verse.
Might
not
the
warm
rays
from
the
fire
exhibit
the
page
as
it
appears
to
an
imaginative
and
kindred
mind,
whilst
that
cold,
dull
light
from
the
window
showed
it
as
it
is
beheld
by
eyes
to
which
poetry
has
but
a
poor,
literal
meaning,
or
none
at
all?
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