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Hichens, Robert Smythe, 1864-1950

"Flames"

"
Valentine smiled and shook his head.
"I expect her sorrows are not caused by the loss of her virtue, but
merely by her lack of the luxuries of life. These birds always want
their nests to be made of golden twigs and lined with satin."
But Julian remained unconvinced.
"You don't know her," he said. "Why, Valentine, you have never known such
a woman! You! The very notion is ridiculous."
"I have seen them in their Garden of Eden, offering men the fruit of the
tree of knowledge."
"You mean?"
"At the 'Empire.'"
"Ah! I have half promised to take her there one night."
"Shall I come with you, Julian?"
Julian looked at him to see if he was in earnest as he made this
unutterable proposition. Valentine's clear, cold, thoughtful blue
eyes met his eager, glowing, brown, ones with direct gravity.
"You mean it, Val?"
"Certainly."
"You will be seen at the 'Empire' with her?"
"Well--would not you?"
"But you are so different."
"Julian, you remember that night when we leaned out over London, when we
saw what are called common people having common experiences? I said then
that they, at any rate, were living."
"Yes."
"You and I will try to live with them."
"But, Valentine--you--"
"Even I may learn to feel the strength of the spring if I order my life
rather differently in the future.


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