“It’s unforgivable of me to call, Miss Stanley,” he said, shaking hands in a peculiar, high, fashionable manner; “but you know you said we might be friends. I felt suddenly I understood you—as an intelligent person. Of animal life, there was nothing left but monkeys and wild pig, the latter having been domesticated. Flesh and blood, vivid, alluring; she was no longer the symbol, therefore she had become, as in the twinkling of an eye, an utter stranger. And to think that there they are making history! There they are putting together the plans of a new world. Slash and cut as much as you please. My death, probably. You know they say, as, indeed, I have just quoted already, that all bad poetry is written in a state of emotion, but I have no doubt that this is true of bad offers of marriage. ” “Severely dampened? By what?” “By hope. I bound him up good and tight, stuffed his mouth with a length of rope, taped it shut.
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