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 into a devastating sob. "I just can't bear it any longer."

"What will Sophie say!"

And to his eternal amazement Rhoda uttered a single word, one of the coarsest in the language, and most expressive.

A few weeks later Grover composed a careful reply to Geoffrey's letter. As he chewed the pen he pictured Geoffrey securely stationed upon his rostrum at an important western university, Doctor Saint every inch of him, handing down pronouncements that it would take the brighter of his students years and years to discover the fallacy of!

"I cannot but feel," wrote Grover, "that you have failed a little to catch the purport of my book." He paused, wondering with a wild flare of hope whether his novel, like Racicot's music and Casimir's painting, might not have some deep-hidden significance, too deep even for himself! "Not that I think it would be published as it stands; but after all, dear old Geoffrey, there are views—but let's not go into that." He was about to add, "and a new spirit in the land," but it might be as well not to go into that either, for young men in every generation had imagined themselves discovering a new spirit which was without doubt the same old one.

"For the time being I've drained Paris dry. It may