"April had come over the hill. And when Franklin crossed the road from the golf course, vaulted the low wall of his garden, and went up the path that was lined with regiments of crocuses, he might have seen many changes made by long soft hours of sun and new born hope. But he was in no mood for these things. All he saw was the picture that he carried in his mind all day and for many days, and which had flung him into tortures of anxiety, being a man...