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particular pleasure of a young man. You know, you can have just as
good a time at fifty as you can at thirty, but it's not the same sort of
good time. I wanted to live the perfect life while I still had the energy
and the spirit to make the most of it. Twenty-five years seemed a long
time to me, and twenty-five years of happiness seemed worth paying
something pretty substantial for. I'd made up my mind to wait a year
and I waited a year. Then I sent in my resignation and as soon as they
paid me my gratuity I bought the annuity and came on here."
"An annuity for twenty-five years? "
"That's right."
"Have you never regretted? "
"Never. I've had my money's worth already. And I've got ten
years more. Don't you think after twenty-five years of perfect
happiness one ought to be satisfied to call it a day? "
"Perhaps."
He did not say in so many words what he would do then, but
his intention was clear. It was pretty much the story my friend had
told me, but it sounded different when I heard it from his own lips. I
stole a glance at him. There was nothing about him that was not
ordinary. No one, looking at that neat, prim face, could have thought
him capable of an unconventional action. I did not blame him. It was
his own life that he had arranged in this strange manner, and I did not
see why he should not do what he liked with it. Still, I could not
prevent the little shiver that ran down my spine.
"Getting chilly? " he smiled. "We might as well start walking
down. The moon'll be up by now."
Before we parted Wilson asked me if I would like to go and see
his house one day; and two or three days later, finding out where he
lived, I strolled up to see him. It was a peasant's cottage, well away
from the town, in a vineyard, with a view of the sea. By the side of
the door grew a great oleander in full flower. There were only two
small rooms, a tiny kitchen and a leanto in which firewood could be
kept. (The bedroom was furnished like a monk's cell but the sitting-
room, smelling agreeably of tobacco, was comfortable enough, with
two large arm-chairs that he had brought from England, a large roll-
top desk, a cottage piano and crowded bookshelves. On the walls
were framed engravings of pictures by G. F. Watts and Lord
Leighton. Wilson told me that the house belonged to the owner of the
vineyard who lived in another cottage higher up the hill, and his wife,