Sometimes it seemed that one heard a sound of sobbing — stifled sobbing; as if a man were swallowing a bitter grief with bitter determination — but this was perhaps imaginary; for there were so many strange sounds in that strange summer that no one could well trust his ears.
The summer waned; and yet it seemed at last as though the number of those who talked to invisible things became greater. They did become greater in number. There was no doubt of it remaining before the first cold wind came from the far North, boisterous and wild as though suddenly freed from some Arctic enchanter. And the numbers of the mysterious ones waxed greater.
Then at intervals their words fell upon our ears; and it seemed that the character of them had undergone a change — no longer expressing ideas of wealth. They
