“Well,” she admitted. “Nothing can cheer me,” he said, “except champagne. It did not cheer or fortify him with false courage and recklessness; it simply enveloped him in a mist of unreality. You will sever ties with your own kin?” “Yes. She calls us her guests, but in reality we are her prisoners. It is the immediate inspiration of confidence; it alleviates pain, because we know by that smile that pain is soon to leave us; it becomes the bulwark against our depressive thoughts of death; and it is the promise that we still have a long way to go before we reach the Great Terminal. I’m six hundred and forty-eight years old, John! I should have never seduced a young boy, let alone expected him to keep my secrets for me. Now, abruptly, they were real again, though very distant, and she had come to say farewell to them across one sundering year.
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