Beyond the curtains of the litter the mighty city was awakening and the thunder of traffic and feet and voices had begun. It was an old and familiar sound, and no longer exciting. That is the trouble with growing older, thought Marcus gloomily. There is no more newness in the world, no more surmise. No more wonder. What can console one for the loss of these? Life for me now is only a retreat, and what is a sunrise for the young is a sunset for me. As for adventure, I can no longer expect it, if indeed it ever came to me at all. After forty, a man is hardly alive.
