ld be unkind to wake this dear bedfellow merely because he
himself could not sleep. He clasped his hands behind his head, and by
a prolonged effort of will remained motionless. But insomnia was
exciting every nerve in his body; each memory seemed to light up the
entire labyrinth of his brain; each sense-message came inward like a
bomb-shell, reaching with its explosion the highest as well as the
deepest centers, discharging circuits of swift fire through every area
of associated ideas, and so completely shattering the normal congruity
between impressions and recognitions that the slight drag of the sheet
across his raised toes was sufficient to make him feel again the
pressure of thick boots that he had worn years ago when he tramped as
new postman on the Manninglea Road.

And each thing that he thought of he saw--hawthorn blossom like snow
on the hedgerows, red rhododendrons as vivid as Chinese lanterns in
the gloom of the dark copse, the green moss of the rides, the white
paint of the gates. The farthest point of his round was Mr.
Barradine's mansion, and he used to arrive there just before eight
o'clock. With the thought came the luminous pictures, and he saw
again, as clearly as fifteen years ago, the splendor of the Abbey
House--that is, all one can see of it as one approaches its vast
servants' offices. Here, solidly real, were the archway, the first and
the second courtyard, grouped gables and irregular roof ridges, the
belfry tower and its gilded vane; men washing a carriage, a horse
drinking at the fountain trough, a dog lying on a sunlit patch of
cobble-stones and lazily snapping at flies; a glimpse, through iron
scroll work, of terrace balustrades, yellow gravel, and lemon-trees in
tubs; the oak doors of laundries, drying-rooms, and so forth.

It was here, outside the laundry, that he saw Mavis for the first
time; and although the sleeves of her print dress were rolled up and
she was carrying a metal skimming dish, something ineffably refined
and superior in her deportme

William Babington Maxwell (18661938) was a British novelist. He was a son of novelist Mary Elizabeth Braddon. Though nearly 50 years old at the outbreak of the First World War, he was accepted as a lieutenant in the Royal Fusiliers and served in France until 1917.

Cyrus Townsend Brady (December 20, 1861 January 24, 1920) was a journalist, historian and adventure writer. His most well-known work is Indian Fights and Fighters. He was born in Allegheny, Pennsylvania, and graduated from the U.S. Naval Academy in 1883. He was also a deacon in the Episcopal church. His first wife was Clarissa Guthrie, who died in 1890. His second wife was Mary Barrett.

Rebecca Sophia Clarke (1833-1906), also known as Sophie May, was an American author of childrens fiction. Using her nieces and nephews as inspiration, she wrote realistic stories about children. She wrote 45 books between 1860 and 1903. The most popular being the Little Prudy books. She lived most of her life in her native town of Norridgewock, Maine, where she lived out her life with her sister, who was also a successful author.