Межзвёздный скиталец

           Iwasfeverish,andonoccasionIdranksparinglyofwaterfromastinkinggoatskin.ThisgoatskinIkepthanginginthesunthatthestenchoftheskinmightincreaseandthattheremightbenorefreshmentofcoolnessinthewater.Foodtherewas,lyinginthedirtonmycave-floor—afewrootsandachunkofmouldybarley-cake;andhungryIwas,althoughIdidnoteat.

           AllIdidthatblessed,livelongdaywastosweatandswelterinthesun,mortifymyleanfleshupontherock,gazeoutofthedesolation,resurrectoldmemories,dreamdreams,andmuttermyconvictionsaloud.

           Andwhenthesunset,intheswifttwilightItookalastlookattheworldsosoontopass.AboutthefeetofthecolossiIcouldmakeoutthecreepingformsofbeaststhatlairedintheonceproudworksofmen.AndtothesnarlsofthebeastsIcrawledintomyhole,and,mutteringanddozing,visioningfeveredfanciesandprayingthatthelastdaycomequickly,Iebbeddownintothedarknessofsleep.

           *****

           Consciousnesscamebacktomeinsolitary,withthequartetoftorturersaboutme.

           “BlasphemousandhereticalWardenofSanQuentinwhosefeethavefastholdofhell,”Igibed,afterIhaddrunkdeepofthewatertheyheldtomylips.“Letthejailersandthetrustiestriumph.Theirtimeisshort,andforthemthereisnotimeaftertime.