. There was no such a thing as perfection in a mixed world. He was a civil servant of some standing, and after a previous conversation upon aesthetics of a sententious, nebulous, and sympathetic character, he had sent her a small volume, which he described as the fruits of his leisure and which was as a matter of fact rather carefully finished verse. “You are not going out—this evening, I trust,” that lady asked, a trifle dismayed. Too many. On the morrow Spurlock (who was unaware that he had offered a prayer) let down the bars to his reserve. At the same time he comprehended that she was as pure and lovely as the white orchid of Borneo and that she did not carry that ridiculous shield called false modesty. But if God is kind to me, someday I may climb up to where you are. ” “Yes, shit. All my personal effects to be left in charge of the nearest American Consulate.
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