ghts that would succeed it. But
both horror and yearnings were stupefied by the content that flooded the
present moment. No doubt it was reaction from what had gone before, but
the reaction was complete. Just now he asked for nothing but to sit in
the sun and smoke his cigarette, and wait for dinner. As far as he knew
he did not think of anything particular; he just existed in the sun.

The wind must have shifted a little, for before long it came round
the corner of the house, and slightly spoiled the mellow warmth of the
sunshine. This would never do. The Epicurean in him revolted at the idea
of losing a moment of this complete well-being, and arguing that if the
wind blew here, it must be dead calm below the kitchen window on the
other side of the house, he got off his rail and walked along the
slippery bank at the edge of the flooded road in order to go there. It
was hard to keep his footing here, and his progress was slow, but he
felt he would take any amount of trouble to avoid getting his feet wet
in the flooded road. Then there was a patch of kitchen-garden to cross,
where the mud clung rather annoyingly to his instep, and, having gained
the garden path, he very carefully wiped his boots and with a fallen
twig dug away the clots of soil that stuck to the instep.

He found that he had been quite right in supposing that the air would
be windless here, and full of great content he sat down with his back
to the house wall. A tortoise-shell butterfly, encouraged by the warmth,
was flitting about among the Michaelmas daisies that bordered the path
and settling on them, opening its wings to the genial sun. Two or three
bees buzzed there also; the summer-like tranquillity inserted into the
middle of November squalls and rain, deluded them as well as Michael
into living completely in the present hour. Gnats hovered about. One
settled on Michael's hand, where he instantly killed it, and was sorry
he had done so. For the time the booming of guns which had sounded
incessantly all the morning to the east, stopped altogether, and
absolute quiet reigned. Had he not been so hungry, and so unable to get
the idea of the stewpot out of his head, Michael would have been content
to sit with his back to the sun-warmed wall for ever.

The high-road, raised and embanked above the low-lying fields, ran
eastwards in an undeviating straight line. Just opposite the farm were
the last outlying huts of the village, and from there onwards it