my imagination persisted in sticking horrors into the dark- so I stuck my imagination into the dark instead, and let it look out at me.

The sun had gone down behind the tall apartments of the movie stars in the West Fifties, and the unclear voices of children, already gathered like crikets on the grass, rose through the hot twilight.

They weren't happy, and neither of them had touched the chicken or the ale---and yet they weren't unhappy either. There was an unmistakable air of natural intimacy about the picture and anybody would have said that they were conspiring together.

God knows what you've been doing, everything you've been doing. You may fool me, but you can't fool God!

He did not understand all he had heard, but from his clandestine glimpse into the privacy of these two, with all the world that his short experience could conceive of at their feet, he had gathered that life for everybody was a struggle, sometimes magnificent from a distance, but always difficult and surprisingly simple and a little sad.

What was it up there in the song that seemed to be calling her back inside? What would happen now in the dim, incalculable hours?

One thin's sure and nothing's surer The rich get richer and the poor get - children. In the meantime, In between time...