“Why can’t we propagate by sexless spores, as the ferns do? We restrict each other, we badger each other, friendship is poisoned and buried under it!. ‘Melusine was making herself mistress of them when we met. Rummage, my boy, do. Why don’t you wait and see if you do truly love me, then I can believe you? Then I know I am worth waiting for. Don’t think it was anything better than fever—or a bit beautiful. "You," answered Jack, abruptly. There was no past, no future, only this exhilarating present. “I know that our social order is dreadful enough,” he said, “and sacrifices all that is best and most beautiful in life.
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