” “I suppose,” said Constance, stencilling away at bright pink petals, “it’s our lot. “That’s what we narcs have to do. It’s just upon my lunch-time. She interrupted. ‘Get you invited to a party where the French émigrés will be present? Nothing easier, dear boy. "How is the patient?" he asked. He felt like a boy again, the taste for adventures was keen upon his palate, the whole undiscovered world of rhythmical things, of love and poetry and passion seemed again to him a real and actual place, and he himself an adventurer upon the threshold.
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