"Tom!" cried LaFarge. "Alice!" another. "William!" They snatched his wrists, whirled him about, until with one last shriek of horror he fell.
He lay on the stones, melted, was cooling, his face all faces, one eye blue, the other golden, hair that was brown, red, yellow, black, one eyebrow thick, one thin, one hand large, one small.
They stood over him and put their fingers to their mouths. They bent down.
"He‘s dead," someone said at last.
It began to rain.
The rain fell upon the people, and they looked up at the sky.
Slowly, and then more quickly, they turned and walked away and then started running, scattering from the scene. In a minute the place was desolate. Only Mr. and Mrs. LaFarge remained, looking down, hand in hand, terrified.
The rain fell upon the upturned, unrecognizable face.
Anna said nothing but began to cry.
"Come along home, Anna, there‘s nothing we can do," said the old man.
They climbed down into the boat and went back along the canal in the darkness. They entered their house and lit a small fire and warmed their hands. They went to bed and lay together, cold and thin, listening to the rain returned to the roof above them.
"Listen," said LaFarge at midnight. "Did you hear something?"
"Nothing, nothing."
"I'll go look anyway."
He fumbled across the dark room and waited by the outer door for a long time before he opened it.
He pulled the door wide and looked out.
Rain poured from the black sky upon the empty dooryard, into the canal and among the blue mountains.
He waited five minutes and then softly, his hands wet, he shut and bolted the door.