Twain's End - Pg 154

   The gloaming. Eventide. Dusk. Twilight. For this hour to have so many names, it must have troubled the ancients. As a girl in Elmira, before her health had become delicate, she'd liked this time best, especially in summer, when there were fireflies to capture and a white moon to watch rise, after which she would drag herself indoors, sticky and tired from playing, to sit in the warm soapy water of a tin hat tub. Now the folding of day into night held none of these delights. Twilight felt purely ominous: the ending of a chance; the dwindling of time that would never repeat itself; a loss. The earth itself seemed to hold its breath during these fading minutes, as if afraid of what was to come. The lingering made the surrender so poignant, until the light finally... went.