midnight
The misery possessing me was of that passionate kind which embraces self-torture . I wilfully excavated the ten past years for memories of Doe , though , in so doing , I was pressing upon my wound to make it hurt . I watched him as a boy , getting into the next bed in the Bramhall dormitory , or rowing in the evening light up the river at Falmouth . I saw two young khaki figures , his and mine , setting out at midnight to sin and sully ourselves together . I heard him quoting on the hilltops of Mudros his haunting couplet : `` As long days close , And weary English suns go west ` ring home . '' The memories made my breath come fast and jerkily . With madly exalted words I addressed that slight fair-haired figure , which must now for ever be only a memory . ''