There were days, however, when even the silent things did not soothe Master Nathaniel; when the condition described by Ranulph as the imprisoning of all one’s being into a space as narrow as a tooth, whence it irradiates waves of agony, became so overwhelming, that he was unconscious of the external world.
One late afternoon, a prey to this mood, he was mooning about the Fields of Grammary.
In the epitaphs on the tombstone one could read the history of Dorimarite sensibility from the quiet poignancy of those dating from the days of the Dukes—“Eglantine mourns for Endymion, who was Alive and now is Dead;” or “During her Life Ambrose often dreamed that Forget-Me-Not was Dead. This Time he woke up and found that it was True”—followed by the peaceful records of industry and prosperity of the
