But we," said the stars, "are as old as the Unknown." He leaned his chin against the palm of his hand and looked up at them.
So long he sat there that bright stars set and new ones rose, and yet he sat on.
Then at last he stood up, and began to loosen the riem from the gable.
What did it matter about the books?
The lust and the desire for them had died out.

If they pleased to keep them from him they might.

What matter?
it was a very little thing.

Why hate, and struggle, and fight?
Let it be as it would.
He twisted the riem round his arm and walked back along the ridge of the house.
By this time Bonaparte Blenkins had finished his dream of Trana, and as he turned himself round for a fresh doze he heard the steps descending the ladder.

His first impulse was to draw the blanket over his head and his legs under him, and to shout; but recollecting that the door was locked and the window carefully bolted, he allowed his head slowly to crop out among the blankets, and listened intently.