(4)think, surely they must cease. Whatever else may perish anddisappear, what lies here is steadfast. Here, one might sayto those sliding lights on the ceiling, those grey airs of mid-night that bend over the bed itself, here you can neigther touchnor destroy. Upon which, wearily, ghostlily, as if they hadfeather-light fingers and the light persistency of feathers,they would look, once, on the shut eyes, and the looselyclasping fingers, and fold their garments, wearily, and disappear.They took themselves off now (but after all it would soon bewinter) to the window on the staircase, which they rubbed andfumbled; shook a wandering light upstairs in the servants'bedrooms among boxes in the attics; descended to ripple thecloaks outside the dining room; to meditate among the apples onthe table, to blanch and nibble their redness and hardness, -how could one tarnish them? - Nnext reached the roses in the jarand tried there too, with their vapid fumbling, how petal couldbe nipped from petal, the stalk swollen, and the pallor stained,tried the picture on the easel and brushed the mat and blew alittle sand along the floor.At last, desisting, like spies called back to the armythey gathered in the middle of the hall. All ceased together;all sighed together; all together gave off an aimless gust oflamentation to which some door in the kitchen replied; swungwide; it admitted nothing; banged to. There was silence.Then as if to refresh the failing powers of destruction,
