“Within the cramped walls of a building into which the sun but rarely shone, he was leaving his belongings and the last years of his boyhood. In the kitchen, the bedroom and the parlour, even in the windings of the steep familiar stairs, which he was now descending never to climb again, in the dark narrow passage along which he strode for the last time, he was leaving all he knew and loved on earth. In every nook and cranny of the place there were traces of his father which had kept the memory o...f the old man green and fresh; for he had never left these rooms altogether; his presence haunted them and stood beside his son with a semblance of life that was only slowly and hardly perceptibly fading away. Whenever Lucas called to mind how his father’s hands had rested on the table, or raised the window-bolt above it and then carefully stretched the parchment across the drawing-board, or how every morning he had seen him sit up in his bed in the recess, his pale calm face visible in the twilight of the room, his gentle voice uttering his first greeting and asking the first question before starting on a new day, he always felt that at any moment his father might come into the room through the low, rusty-black door.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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