the yellow crayon

The Yellow Crayonby E. Phillips OppenheimCHAPTER IIt was late summer-time, and the perfume of flowers stole into thedarkened room through the half-opened window. The sunlight forcedits way through a chink in the blind, and stretched across the floorin strange zigzag fashion. From without came the pleasant murmurof bees and many lazier insects floating over the gorgeous flowerbeds, resting for a while on the clematis which had made the piazzaa blaze of purple splendour. And inside, in a high-backed chair,there sat a man, his arms folded, his eyes fixed steadily uponvacancy. As he sat then, so had he sat for a whole day and a wholenight. The faint sweet chorus of glad living things, whi

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