The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice. “Could you play ‘Fiddler on the Roof’?” father Thomas pleaded. “Nigel, Nigel,” she cried. He seemed to be about to move toward her. “I think,” he said, “that I would fetch any one whom he has asked to see. . "Will that do?" he added, returning it. " The walls appeared to rock; bulging shadows reached out; the candle flames became mocking eyes; and the blood drummed thunderously in Spurlock's ears.
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