Albert Kinross

“ The half-hour chimed on the night. The dead generations below the sod had known no love as this, the barred church no such union. The village slept, wrapped in a stubborn torpor, man beside wife, parent and child. Only the one light burned, in the cottage window where Love and Death were watching. And here in the churchyard stood Love and Life. ”

“ The dead underfoot had not stirred, nor shaken their worn bones—an antic chorus.
The village was dumb; only its dogs bayed aimlessly at nothings, or a challenging circle of cockerels crowed from farmyard to farmyard. The light behind the one yellow window-pane had vanished. Perhaps Life had surrendered the dying man, had cast its eye over this still churchyard, sure of succession; while Love sobbed through the dark. ”

“ As they stepped along the world seemed to have dwindled to some desert island where only they two stirred, a personal belonging; every clod of soil, every fold of the darkness, their very own. Thought made an epic of each minute, so close were they, so eloquent the night! The silent stars and the mysterious distances unshrouded nocturnes rarer than any known of musician.
Through Harvey's heart these melodies whispered and melted, equally elusive, equally vague, deep as the night. ”