It seems to make him sorry when he laughs,
And I know what it does to me. But here
As at the station—I remember that—
The quantitative bias of the boy
May slant me too much to the other side
And make me blind again. By Jove! old man,
If you could really know her as I do
'T would be the revelation of your life:
You would see that there are women in the world
Who are altogether different," etc.
There was more generosity in "women"
I thought than in the man without the feather.—
Meanwhile I saw that Captain Craig was dying.
III
I found the old man sitting in his bed,
Propped up and uncomplaining. On a chair
Beside him was a dreary bowl of broth,
A magazine, some glasses, and a pipe.
"I do not light it nowadays," he said,
"But keep it for an antique influence
That it exerts, an aura that it sheds—
Like hautboys, or Provence. You understand:
