And at this point the doctor used the curb suddenly
and pulled himself up sharply. He felt that is was useless, that it was
unworthy, to plunge himself thus in romance, and to hang veils of mystery
around these facts which he had to accept and to deal with. A touch of
humanity is worth all the unhuman romance in the world. Humanity lay at
the doctor's gate, sore distressed, sinking to something that was beyond
distress. So, putting his fancies resolutely behind him, Doctor Levillier
resolved to fight through that frail weapon, the lady of the feathers,
the battle of Julian's will against the will--which he now fully and
once for all recognized as malign--of the man he must still call
Valentine. Valentine had said to Julian, at the Savoy, "If it came to a
battle--Cuckoo Bright's will against mine!" The doctor had not heard
those words. Yet, under the stars on the doorstep of Cuckoo's dwelling
he, too, had spoken to the girl of a fight. Thus he had poured a great
ardour into her heart. The three souls, Cuckoo's, Doctor Levillier's,
Valentine's, were thus set in battle array. They understood what they
faced, or at least that they faced warfare. Only Julian did not
understand--yet. He was besotted by the spell of the one he called friend
laid upon him, and by the vices in which he had been taught to wallow.
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