Excerpt from Krum: A Study of Consciousness
Inspiration refuses to thrive on stale bread and cigar-ends, said Krum, frowning at the gibbous moon as he replaced his pencil and note-book. Nor is this raw cold in the least conducive to the true poetic spirit. Unfortunately, it is useless to abuse the weather. The elements listen to bad language so cynically. And, unlike Xerxes, I have no mood to flog the sea.
He drew himself up and stared along the uneven trail. The rock gave out the echo of footsteps, and be perceived a man, clad in the thick uniform of an official, swinging down towards him.
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