It’s—Mrs. So, here he was, on the last lap of middle age, in China, having missed all the thrills in life except one—the war against Death. . She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. ‘Oh, you are making a game with me. I cannot live without you, Anna. In between naps she increasingly found herself gazing at him, his large nose, his eyes circled in silvery plum shadows, his thin lips parted as he slept baring a rim of perfect teeth. For such of us as pretend to be wise—and we are but fools in a lesser degree—we know that humanity moves onward only by the impellant of fine dreams. B.
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