Chapter 3
Sydney Australia Summer 1897
'Roam like Kings-
Defend like Heroes!
Charm like Angels;
Live every single day...
To thine self be true.'
Unknown
‘It can never happen again,’ he whispered, as he closed the door silently behind him and left.
Arthur Gordon McCrae stood as quiet as his surroundings in the middle of the large sparsely furnished room. The silence reflected the solitude, and comparatively he was as tall and as colourless as the candle which burned slowly atop the rosewood dresser in the boarding house of the Sydney Grammar School.
Alone, he was not; there were three of them – one real and two reflections. One could be seen in the pane of glass from the window and the other, soundless and unresponsive, in the slightly speckled mirror. The real one gazed alternately, and momentarily, upon the others. With purpose, he pulled almost shut, the long, dark green velvet curtain; now there were two of them.
The real one regarded the other and even though the candle flickered briefly, Arthur could see the adventure begin to dance in his deep blue eyes. The skin was pale, the hair ruffled and in need of a cut, the lips were as red as a ripe strawberry and the face was mature for his seventeen years. It was not a match for the rest of his body. Lifting one hand toward his left cheek, Arthur then moved his fingers unhurriedly downward; commencing from just near to his ear and following the line of his rounded jaw, until his index finger came to rest upon his bottom lip. The mind dreamed of adventures and his body was warmed by the very slight stale wisp of air, which presented itself from the hot Australian summer of 1897.
Tomorrow would begin his final week before the beginning of the Christmas holiday. Even at this moment, his anticipation for the following year was real. Arthur would be in his final year of studies at the prestigious establishment of the Sydney Grammar School.
Disregarding the silver plated snuff that matched the holder, Arthur gave one swift blow; the candle extinguished – and now there was one.
Removing his attire, and not bothering to dress in the cotton night shirt which almost covered the small wooden chair, he lay naked on his oversized single bed. Placing both hands behind his head and gazing upward, the darkened corners of the room drew his attention for what seemed like a long time. And as the soporific environment claimed its prize, his final contemplation asserted the moment. ‘The far distant corners,'
