A creature like that is
neither good, nor would I call her really evil, for she is evil merely
that she may go on living, not because she has a fine pleasure in sin.
But if you sell your will for bread and butter, you slip out of the
world, the world that must be reckoned with. I say, Cuckoo Bright is
nothing."
"And I tell you she is something extraordinary."
As Julian spoke the words the cab stopped at the Savoy. Valentine sprang
out and paid the man. His face was flushed as if with heat, despite the
piercing cold of the night.
"A private room and supper for two," he said to the man in the vestibule.
"Take my coat," and he drew himself with obvious relief from the embrace
of his huge coat. Julian and he said nothing more until they were
sitting opposite to one another at a small oval table in a small and
strongly decorated room, whose windows faced the Thames Embankment. The
waiter uncorked a bottle of champagne with the air of one performing a
religious rite. The electric light gleamed and a fire chased the frost
from recollection. Julian had already forgotten what they had been
talking about in the cab. The first sip of champagne swept the heavy
meditativeness from him. But Valentine, unfolding his napkin slowly, and
with his eyes on the _menu_, said:
"In what way is she something extraordinary?"
"H'm?" Julian muttered.
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