Algernon Blackwood 
Day and Night Stories 

As he got out of the train at the little wayside station he remembered the conversation as if it had been yesterday, instead of fifteen years ago — and his heart went thumping against his ribs so violently that he almost heard it. The original thrill came over him again with all its infinite yearning. He felt it as he had felt it then — not with that tragic lessening the interval had brought to each repetition of its memory. Here, in the familiar scenery of its birth, he realised with mingled pain and wonder that the subsequent years had not destroyed, but only dimmed it.