The moon is to high to be a
menace, and besides, I am not dangerous. Now, what do you think
about?"
"About Life, mostly. But of course there is Death, which is
beautiful but cold. And--one always thinks of Love, doesn't
one?"
"Does one?" he asked. I could see he was much interested.
As for me, I dared not consider whom it was who sat beside me,
almost touching. That way lay madness.
"Don't you ever," he said, "reflect on just ordinary
things, like Clothes and so forth?"
I shruged my shoulders.
"I don't get enough new clothes to worry about. Mostly I
think of my Work."
"Work?"
"I am a writer" I said in a low, ernest tone.
"No! How--how amazing. What do you write?"
"I'm on a play now."
"A Comedy?"
"No. A Tradgedy. How can I write a Comedy when a play must
always end in a catastrofe? The book says all plays end in
Crisis, Denouement and Catastrofe."
"I can't beleive it," he said. "But, to tell you a Secret,
I never read any books about Plays."
"We are not all gifted from berth, as you are," I observed,
not to merely please him, but because I considered it the simple
Truth.
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