large/9676/unhappy_far-off_things_1701_librivox_64kb_mp3/unhappyfaroffthings_03_dunsany_64kb_14
large/9676/unhappy_far-off_things_1701_librivox_64kb_mp3/unhappyfaroffthings_03_dunsany_64kb
English
9676
Evening was filling fast, still he kept on. It was the time when the cornstacks would once have begun to grow indistinct, and slowly turn grey in the greyness, and homesteads one by one would have lit their innumerable lights. EVENING WAS FILLING FAST STILL HE KEPT ON IT WAS THE TIME WHEN THE CORN STALKS WOULD ONCE HAVE BEGUN TO GROW INDISTINCT AND SLOWLY TURN GRAY IN THE GREYNESS AND HOMESTEADS ONE BY ONE WOULD HAVE LIT THEIR INNUMERABLE LIGHTS
 thronged, in thousands here. It was the day of the weeds. It was only they that seemed to triumph in those fields deserted of man. He passed on down the trench and never knew whose trench it once had been. Frightful shells had smashed it here and there, and had twisted iron as though round gigantic fingers that had twiddled it idly a moment and let it drop to lie in the rain for ever. He passed more dug-outs and black fungi, watching them; and then he left the trench, going straight on over the open: again dead grasses hissed about his feet, sometimes small wire sang faintly He passed through a belt of nettles and thence to dead grass again. And now the light of the afternoon was beginning to dwindle away. He had intended to reach his journey's end by daylight, for he was past the time of life when one wanders after dark, but he had not contemplated the difficulty of walking over that road, or dreamed that lanes he knew could be so foundered and merged, in that mournful desolate moor. GHT TO RETURN WEEDS THRONGED IN THOUSANDS HERE IT WAS THE DAY OF THE WEEDS IT WAS ONLY THEY THAT SEEMED TO TRIUMPH IN THOSE FIELDS DESERTED OF MAN HE PASSED ON DOWN THE TRENCH AND NEVER KNEW WHOSE TRENCH IT ONCE HAD BEEN FRIGHTFUL SHELLS HAD SMASHED IT HERE AND THERE AND HAD TWISTED IRON AS THOUGH ROUND GIGANTIC FINGERS THAT HAD TWIDDLED IT IDLY A MOMENT AND LET IT DROP TO LIE IN THE RAIN FOR EVER HE PASSED MORE DUGOUTS AND BLACK FUNGI WATCHING THEM AND THEN HE LEFT THE TRENCH GOING STRAIGHT ON OVER THE OPEN AGAIN DEAD GRASSES HISSED ABOUT HIS FEET SOMETIMES SMALL WIRES SANG FAINTLY HE PASSED THROUGH A BELT OF NETTLES AND THENCE TO DEAD GRASS AGAIN AND NOW THE LIGHT OF THE AFTERNOON WAS BEGINNING TO DWINDLE AWAY HE HAD INTENDED TO REACH HIS JOURNEY'S END BY DAYLIGHT FOR HE WAS PAST THE TIME OF LIFE WHEN ONE WANDERS AFTER DARK BUT HE HAD NOT CONTEMPLATED THE DIFFICULTY OF WALKING OVER THAT ROAD OR DREAMED THAT LANES HE KNEW COULD BE SO FOUNDERED AND MERGED IN THAT MOURNFUL DESOLATE MOOR
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