Page:Avon's harvest.djvu/12

 Consumed him while he crumbled and said nothing. So many a time had I been on the edge, And off again, of a foremeasured fall Into the darkness and discomfiture Of his oblique rebuff, that finally My silence honored his, holding itself Away from a gratuitous intrusion That likely would have widened a new distance Already wide enough, if not so new. But there are seeming parallels in space That may converge in time; and so it was I walked with Avon, fought and pondered with him, While he made out a case for So-and-so, Or slaughtered What's-his-name in his old way, With a new difference. Nothing in Avon lately Was, or was ever again to be for us,