"To those who, like me, have never been able to get out of the dark and dreary paths of life, the grave is indeed a refuge, and the sooner they reach it the better. The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice. ’ ‘Exactement. I have seen many of them. "Forgive—forgive me!" "I have nothing to forgive," replied Mrs. ’ ‘I don’t, as a matter of fact,’ Gerald said decidedly, a frown creasing his brow. "Nobody composes any more, nobody paints, nobody writes—I mean, on a par with what we've just heard.
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