“It is a night of endings,” she murmured to herself. “Where are they?” She looked around. They walked back to 118 hand in hand. Kicked out of there for something shady. They had their little dreams about her. Amiable and good-looking. What a pity! For all her ignorance of material things—the human inventions which served the physical comforts of man—how much she knew about man himself! She had seen him bereft of all those spiritual props which permit man to walk on two feet instead of four—broken, without resilience. She had found a couple of articles about him over the years, blurbs about the opening of a theater that mentioned him. I see that compromise is more necessary to life than I ignorantly supposed it to be, and I have been trying to get Lord Morley’s book on that subject, but it does not appear to be available in the prison library, and the chaplain seems to regard him as an undesirable writer. Hold the chopper away from you, like this.
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