She mounted the stairs of the theatrical agent’s office with very much less than her usual buoyancy, nor did she find much encouragement in the general appearance of the room into which she was shown. The primitive superstition of his Puritan forbears was his; and before this the buckler of his education disintegrated. Why should WE hoard? We aren’t going out presently, like Japanese lanterns in a gale. He was mad. " "I hope they are, Sir," answered Mrs. Gerald sighed. He cherished her. She refused to accept her fate, but what is it that she could do about it? Night after night she invented alternatives. Any man might have endeavoured to protect himself in this fashion, a man with no one to care, with an unnameable terror at the thought (as if it mattered!) of being buried in alien earth, far from the familiar places he loved. ’ Gerald tutted.
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