". . . Or that souls are any whiter when their bodies are called wives. If a dollar's worth of gold will hoop the walls of hell together, Why need heaven be such a ruin of a place that never was? And if at last I lied my starving soul away to nothing, Are you sure you might not miss it? Have you come to such a pass That you would have me longer in your arms if you discovered That I made you into someone else. . . . Oh! . . . Well, there are worse ways. But why aim it at my feet -- unless you fear you may be sorry. . . . There are many days ahead of you." "I do not see those days." "I can see them. Granted even I am wrong, there are the children. And are they to praise their father for his insight if we die? Do you hear them? Do you hear them overhead -- the children -- singing? Do you hear them? Do you hear the children?" "Damn the children!" "Why? What have THEY done? . . . Well, then, -- do it. . . . Do it now, and have it over." "Oh, you devil! . . . Oh, you. . . ." "No, I'm not a devil, I'm a prophet -- One who sees the end already of so much that one end more Would have now the small importance of one other small illusion, Which in turn would have a welcome where the rest have gone before. But if I were you, my fancy would look on a little farther For the glimpse of a release that may be somewhere still in sight. Furthermore, you must remember those two hundred invitations For the dancing after dinner. We shall have to shine tonight. We shall dance, and be as happy as a pair of merry spectres, On the grave of all the lies that we shall never have to tell; We shall dance among the ruins of the tomb of our endurance, And I have not a doubt that we shall do it very well. There! -- I'm glad you've put it back; for I don't like it. Shut the drawer now. No -- no -- don't cancel anything. I'll dance until I drop. I can't walk yet, but I'm going to. . . . Go away somewhere, and leave me. . . . Oh, you children! Oh, you children! . . . God, will they never stop!" Tasker Norcross "Whether all towns and all who live in them -- So long as they be somewhere in this world That we in our complacency call ours -- Are more or less the same, I leave to you. I should say less. Whether or not, meanwhile, We've all two legs -- and as for that, we haven't -- There were three kinds of men where I was born: The good, the not so good, and Tasker Norcross. Now there are two kinds." "Meaning, as I divine, Your friend is dead," I ventured.