That old Penny’s worth of happiness he had spent for this bushel of content.He knew that Irene would be nomore than a curtain spread behind him, a man moving among gleaming teacups, a voice calling to children … Fire and loveliness were gone, the magic of the nights and the wonder of the varying hours and seasons…Slender lips, down – turning, dropping to his lips and bearing him up into a heaven of eyes….The thing was deep in him.He was too strong and alive for it to die lightly.