Under the purple beech Eddie, left alone, sank back on the stone bench
and considered, somewhat as the persecutors of Socrates may have done,
suitable punishments for those who put vile, revolutionary ideas into
the heads of young and lovely women.
In the meantime Ben, who had enjoyed the party more than most of the
invited guests, and far more than the disconsolate Eddie, had left his
vantage point at the window. He had suddenly become aware of a strange
light stealing under the trees, and, looking up, he saw with
surprise that the stars were growing small and the heavens turning
steel-color--in fact, that it was dawn.
Convinced that sunrise was a finer sight than the end of the grandest
ball that ever was given, he made his way down a shabby back lane,
and before long came out on the edge of the cliffs, with the whole
panorama of sunrise over the Atlantic spread out before him.
He stood there a moment, somebody's close, well-kept lawn under his
feet, and a pale-pink sea sucking in and out on the rocks a hundred
feet below. The same hot, red sun was coming up; there wasn't a steady
breeze, but cool salt puffs came to him now and then with a breaking
wave. It was going to be a hot day, and Ben liked swimming better than
most things in life. He hesitated.
If he had turned to the left, he would have come presently to a public
beach and would have had his swim conventionally and in due time.
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