I'd had the opening lines of the story in my mind for a good many
weeks, only waiting for a typewriter to get them onto paper. They were
fairly bubbling out of my head as I placed my hands on the keys.
What I wanted to type was:
_The day was crisp and clear, with the promise of a mild afternoon
in the air. It was the beginning of April, and Spring rustled her
greenness and yawned leisurely. I walked along happily._
It was beautiful. I started to type.
_During the whole of a dull, dark, and soundless day in the autumn of
the year, when the clouds hung oppressively low in the heavens, I had
been passing along, on horseback...._