In the middle of the little town stood the shop of a Jew dealer in old clothes. McClintock, coming from below, saw them and went forward. “Dear me, what a relief! If I had had any nerves that man would have trampled upon them long ago. Darkness closed in on them as the officers stepped inside the musty interior. It’s a mismatch. I wrote three letters yesterday and tore them up. Over one of the pinnacles of the tower a speck of pallid light marked the position of the moon, then newly born and newly risen. It warms me, and lights me, and fills my world with flowers.
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