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Updated: May 28, 2025
The blaze crept in the dry grass down to the very edge of the water, where it went out with puffs of steam, and vicious hisses. "Oh, but I'm glad we're not there," sighed Ruth as she looked across at the smoke-palled and blackened stretch. "Yes, it was a narrow escape," said her father. "What happened after we left?" asked Alice. "The fire really got a little too much for us," said Mr. Pertell.
The angle of the slatternly bag across his shoulders was an insult to the flame. And yet the flame burned with serene and terrible pureness. It was surprising that no one saw it passing along the mean, black, smoke-palled streets that huddle about Saint Luke's Church. Sundry experienced and fat old women were standing or sitting at their cottage doors, one or two smoking cutties.
His mind turned by chance to one of those stories of which he had spoken. A sudden new vigour of thought seemed to rend it inside out almost in those first few seconds. He thought of the garret in which it had been written, the wretched surroundings, the odoriferous food, the thick crockery, the smoke-palled vista of roofs and chimneys.
So, in the midst of that smoke-palled city, enamoured of figures and grimy toil, Paul had his secret temple, his wishing-carpet, his bit of blue-and-white Mediterranean shore bathed in perpetual sunshine. Several of Paul's teachers had a theory that his imagination had been perverted by garish fiction; but the truth was, he scarcely ever read at all.
So, in the midst of that smoke-palled city, enamored of figures and grimy toil, Paul had his secret temple, his wishing carpet, his bit of blue-and-white Mediterranean shore bathed in perpetual sunshine. Several of Paul's teachers had a theory that his imagination had been perverted by garish fiction, but the truth was that he scarcely ever read at all.
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