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there still was in the world something to write about. Yet I did not see anything at first in the mere story. A rascaWWW5b5b5b.COMl steals a large parcel of a valuable commodity — so people say. It’s either truWWW5b5b5b.COM[[b]WWW5b5b5b.COM/b]e or untrue; and in any case it has no value in itself. To invent a circumstantial account of the robbery did not appeal to me, men’s passions in the dusk,ts of strange coasts under the stars, perhaps, faces grown dim. . . . Perhaps, b, gossip half-forgotten, shadows of hills in the sunshine,