She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. She spoke with fluent enthusiasm. A dissipated, loose-living man. I shall like to think of it—whenever I feel dull. But after the first shock came a warm glow of relief. “But your hair,” he gasped. So here I am, king of all I survey, with a predilection for poker, a scorched liver, and a piano-player. Here we go, thought Gerald.
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