A short story by Graham Greene published as a Penguin 60s. A man named Wilditch learns he is dying and returns to his childhood home to revisit a dream he had as a boy.

This was a well crafted short story. It had a mellow feel to it, a feeling of that faraway dreamland of childhood, where reality merges with fiction. I'm not sure if it was supposed to be an allegory with the biblical holy trinity, but it sometimes seemed as though it was.

Left in a gazebo betwixt Stenner and Spring Sts.