“I thought it was daylight,” he said.

“Daylight!” cried I. “Daybreak, sunset, clouds, and windy skies! Shall we ever see such things again?”

As I spoke, a little picture of our world seemed to rise before me, bright and little and clear, like the background of some old Italian picture. “The sky that changes, and the sea that changes, and the hills and the green trees and the towns and cities shining in the sun. Think of a wet roof at sunset, Cavor! Think of the windows of a westward house!”

He made no answer.