. . .
It seemed to Benham in those days that he had found the remedy and
solution of all those sexual perplexities that distressed the world;
Heroic Love to its highest note--and then you go about your
business. It seemed impossible not to be happy and lift one's chin
high and diffuse a bracing kindliness among the unfortunate
multitudes who stewed in affliction and hate because they had failed
as yet to find this simple, culminating elucidation. And Prothero--
Prothero, too, was now achieving the same grand elementariness, out
of his lusts and protests and general physical squalor he had
flowered into love. For a time it is true it made rather an
ineffective companion of him, but this was the mere goose-stepping
for the triumphal march; this way ultimately lay exaltation. Benham
had had as yet but a passing glimpse of this Anglo-Russian, who was
a lady and altogether unlike her fellows; he had seen her for a
doubtful second or so as she and Prothero drove past him, and his
impression was of a rather little creature, white-faced with dusky
hair under a red cap, paler and smaller but with something in her, a
quiet alertness, that gave her a touch of kinship with Amanda.
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