One morning Kak wakened early and lay staring up at the snow ceiling. It looked mysteriously large and gloomed, for Guninana was saving oil and only a small light flamed in one corner of the large lamp, instead of the broad blaze all along its edge. Faint shadows were cast on the incurved roof by the family clothes hanging about. Kak, watching them, peopled an imaginary world with grotesque, half-human forms. The shadows stayed still but his thoughts danced.

He was full of big thoughts these days, and flashing ambitions. The superb elation of his all-night adventure had died down somewhat; house building was no longer tirelessly discussed by everybody; the story sank gradually into neglect, and with it our hero’s importance. This did not suit Kak. Applause had tickled his vanity. Having once tasted the pleasures of fame he longed for them always, and burned to distinguish himself anew.

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