"No," replied Wild; "and I've only listened to your absurd proposal to see how far your insane attachment to this lad would carry you. The boy doesn't know it, but I dug into his trunk for something to identify him and stumbled upon some manuscripts. Any natural fineness would be numbed by drink. He could not quite make her out; a new type. ‘One of your countrymen, perhaps?’ The girl clammed up, the moon of her white face staring up at him in the darkness. He will let you live if it pleases him. It was not a hard face, but it was resolute. “I do hope that I shall be able to make it up to you. The brain tires of resistance, and when it meets again and again, incoherently active, the same phrases, the same ideas that it has already slain, exposed and dissected and buried, it becomes less and less energetic to repeat the operation. You are afraid—that here in London—I shall not be a success.
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