Jim is up to the neck in Mahatmas and Theosophy and Higher Thought and rot—writes letters worse than Alice. He held her eyes. She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. ’ He sighed, spread his hands quite in her own manner, and fluttered his lashes. ” “No, don’t say that. Supper was spaghetti and Italian sausage that night. And life is much the same, whether taken in battle, on the couch, or by the road-side. Why had he kissed her? What had led him into that? Neither love nor passion— utter blankness so far as reducing the act to terms. This had well nigh been the case with the carpenter.
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