His head halted again for a moment at the top of the staircase, level with the roof:

―Don’t mope over it all day, he said. I’m inconsequent. Give up the moody brooding.

His head vanished but the drone of his descending voice boomed out of the stairhead:

And no more turn aside and brood

Upon love’s bitter mystery

For Fergus rules the brazen cars.

And no more turn aside and brood Upon love’s bitter mystery For Fergus rules the brazen cars.