But that was soon put right, and she walked out into London with a peculiar exaltation of mind, an exaltation that partook of panic and defiance, but was chiefly a sense of vast unexampled release. She was on the rim of civilization, entering, as Spurlock was on the rim, preparing to make his exit. He said the place had gone to wrack. Jonathan, however, still lingered. She mentioned, with familiar respect, Christ and Buddha and Shelley and Nietzsche and Plato. “My chief,” he said, “took it into his head to have an impromptu dinner party. He rolled onto his belly, freeing himself from her hands, pushing her away. “There is something to be said for the lady-like theory after all,” she admitted. She drew a long breath. As a matter of fact it isn’t their affair. When the carpenter concluded his recital, Jonathan was for a moment lost in reflection. To compare me to a starving pig.
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