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It was in another world from that in which men will die for a kiss, and touching hands lights fires that burn up lives—the world of romance, the world of passionately beautiful things. “I had found her at last, and she shot me. ‘Now I see that you are mad indeed. He knew me, Nigel. She resolved not to allow him or her hunger detract from the performance at hand, as it would be a special one, an evening to be remembered in the gray days to follow like a precious jewel. “You are a dear,” she exclaimed affectionately. ‘You see,’ he pursued blandly, ‘I lead a life of the most intolerable boredom.
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