y gulped at a tear.
It was queer how dull all his toys were. They were so still. Nothing
was still in the square. If he took his eyes away a moment it had changed.
The milkman had disappeared round the cornerthere was only an old
woman with a basket of green stuff on her headpicking her way over the
shiny stones. But the wind pulled the leaves in the basket this way and
thatand displayed them to beautiful advantage. The sun patted them
condescendingly on their flat surfacesand they seemed sprinkled with
silver. The little boy sighed as he looked at his disordered toys on the
floor. They were motionlessand their colours were dull. The dark
wainscoting absorbed the sun. There was none left for toys.
The square was quite empty now. Only the wind ran round and
round itspinning. Away over in the corner where a street opened into
the squarethe wind had stopped. Stopped runningthat isfor it never
stopped spinning. It whirredand whirledand gyratedand turned. It
burned like a great coloured sun. It hummedand buzzedand sparked
and darted. There were flashes of blueand long smearing lines of
MenWomen and Ghosts
96
saffronand quick jabs of green. And over it all was a sheen li
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