difficult. But, after all, not so difficult if on the next staircase, in
the large room, there are two, three, five young men all convinced of
this--of brutality, that is, and the clear division between right and
wrong. There was a sofa, chairs, a square table, and the window being
open, one could see how they sat--legs issuing here, one there crumpled
in a corner of the sofa; and, presumably, for you could not see him,
somebody stood by the fender, talking. Anyhow, Jacob, who sat astride a
chair and ate dates from a long box, burst out laughing. The answer came
from the sofa corner; for his pipe was held in the air, then replaced.
Jacob wheeled round. He had something to say to THAT, though the sturdy
red-haired boy at the table seemed to deny it, wagging his head slowly
from side to side; and then, taking out his penknife, he dug the point
of it again and again into a knot in the table, as if affirming that the
voice from the fender spoke the truth--which Jacob could not deny.
Possibly, when he had done arranging the date-stones, he might find
something to say to it--indeed his lips opened--only then there broke
out a roar of laughter.

The laughter died in the air. The sound of it could scarcely have
reached any one standing by the Chapel, which stretched along the
opposite side of the court. The laughter died out, and only gestures of
arms, movements of bodies, could be seen shaping something in the room.
Was it an argument? A bet on the boat races? Was it nothing of the sort?
What was shaped by the arms and bodies moving in the twilight room?

A step or two beyond the window there was nothing at all, except the
enclosing buildings--chimneys upright, roofs horizontal; too much brick
and building for a May night, perhaps. And then before one's eyes would
come the bare hills of Turkey--sharp lines, dry earth, coloured flowers,
and colour on the shoulders of the women, standing naked-legged in the