¿Quién puso ese pliegue en su alma, Davies, alista esta mañana fina para la capilla del staid, dónde el ceño Sobers del libro la luz del sol? ¿Quién le enseñó a rogar y a proyectar inmediatamente, sus ojos que daban vuelta hacia el cielo, mientras que su mente rápida pesa las ocasiones de su novilla en la feria de la ciudad siguiente el jueves? ¿Los carbones de su corazón se encienden para el dios, o es el quemarse de sus mejillas magras porque usted se sienta también cerca de la mirada fija que arde de esa muchacha? ¿Decirme, Davies, para la brisa débil del cielo refresca y ruedo en él, que le enseñó su equilibrio hábil?
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