The entire city seemed to exist for beauty and art alone. "No; I don't think I'd laugh. I need you every day. Then he paused. The same old lines and verses, over and over, until there had come times when shrieking would have relieved her. Moments, indeed! We like each other fresh and fresh. There was an air of repressed gaiety in her actions: the sense of freedom had returned; her heart was empty again. “It’s a flabby, loose-willed world we have to face. Whether it was the nun’s habit or the harlot’s clothing that distressed her more, he could not begin to guess. Was it that the struggle of things to survive produced as a sort of necessary byproduct these intense preferences and appreciations, or was it that some mystical outer thing, some great force, drove life beautyward, even in spite of expediency, regardless of survival value and all the manifest discretions of life? She went to Capes with that riddle and put it to him very carefully and clearly, and he talked well—he always talked at some length when she took a difficulty to him—and sent her to a various literature upon the markings of butterflies, the incomprehensible elaboration and splendor of birds of Paradise and hummingbirds’ plumes, the patterning of tigers, and a leopard’s spots. In one grave, mind.
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