Ahead was darkness; but not so dark when he came to it that the
track was invisible. He was at the limit of his intention, but now
he saw that that had been a childish project. He would go on, he
would walk right into the jungle. His first disinclination was
conquered, and the soft intoxication of the subtropical moonshine
was in his blood. . . . But he wished he could walk as a spirit
walks, without this noise of leaves. . . .

Yes, this was very wonderful and beautiful, and there must always be
jungles for men to walk in. Always there must be jungles. . . .

Some small beast snarled and bolted from under his feet. He stopped
sharply. He had come into a darkness under great boughs, and now he
stood still as the little creature scuttled away. Beyond the track
emerged into a dazzling whiteness. . . .

In the stillness he could hear the deer belling again in the
distance, and then came a fuss of monkeys in a group of trees near
at hand. He remained still until this had died away into
mutterings.

Then on the verge of movement he was startled by a ripe mango that
slipped from its stalk and fell out of the tree and struck his hand.
It took a little time to understand that, and then he laughed, and
his muscles relaxed, and he went on again.

A thorn caught at him and he disentangled himself.

He crossed the open space, and the moon was like a great shield of
light spread out above him. All the world seemed swimming in its