![](https://lawrencehouse.ca/wp-content/uploads/2021/03/FBEB3915-D408-4A26-984F-890C895DA2A0-215x300.jpeg)
Crossing Acheron
though he had known every quantity of life: its short repose, its indefinite strike; though he had knowledge of the indifferent span of evening and daylight and the repetitious metaphysic of sound and fury; though life had been every superstitious quality of sensate being, he, with indifference, collected the manifold days into folded gestures and