"That is life," said he, "or perhaps it is death. For death clears the vision. Never does a man see as clearly as during his last few moments of existence, prior to his ceasing to see forever."
Yekial Meigs had little use for Steve Garland although he tolerated him because he paid his board regularly. Behind his back he grumbled a great deal to Mary.
"He's a lunatic," he declared. "I can't understand him. A man seeking death with relish when he ought to be seeking life."
"Yet without worry," she reminded him.
"And without hope."
"Not entirely without hope. There is always the hope of death, the Great Adventure."
One morning they found the body of Steve Garland, far off in the fields, lifeless, though there was a bit of color in his face and he was smiling. A cigarette which he clutched in his fingers was still smouldering.
Mary Blaine looked wistfully into his face.
"He met the dawn with arms outstretched," she said.
"He died," declared Yekial Meigs shortly.
She looked quickly up into his face. "Perhaps you are right," she mused. Never she thought had Yekial looked so utterly repulsive. "Tell me," she asked, "have you ever seen a sunrise?"
"Of course, you fool," he said. "Every morning for twenty years. Do you think I'm blind?"
"But never once have you beheld a dawn," she reflected.
"What do you mean?"
"You wouldn't understand. Simply that you found death in life while he found life in death."
"What are you raving about?" he asked in bewilderment.
"I am talking to a blind man," said she. "Forgive me if I falter. This has been a great shock to me. I think I'm more than a little mad."
"That is because you have been associating with a madman," grumbled Yekial. "It is a good thing that he is dead."
And Mary thought: "For my own peace of mind, perhaps it is best. He tried to make me believe that I was something other
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