I went on to the riverside, and the other followed me. I heard a scathing murmur at my ear, "Heap of muffs -- go to."
The pilgrims could be seen in knots gesticulating, discussing. Several had still their staves in their hands. I verily believe they took these sticks to bed with them. Beyond the fence the forest stood up spectrally in the moonlight, and through that dim stir, through the faint sounds of that lamentable courtyard, the silence of the land went home to one's very heart -- its mystery, its greatness, the amazing reality of its concealed life. The hurt nigger moaned feebly somewhere near by, and then fetched a deep sigh that made me mend my pace away from there. I felt a hand introducing itself under my arm.
Text provided by Project Gutenberg. Audio by LiteralSystems, told by David Kirkwood with narration by Tom Franks, through the generous support of Gordon W. Draper. Audio copyright, 2007 LoudLit.org, some rights reserved. Flash mp3 player by Jeroen Wijering. (cc) some rights reserved. Web page presentation by LoudLit.org.