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 background, talents for which, at least in the present state of development of the cinema—he judged by the film he had seen at Imperia's the evening before—there seemed to be no present demand in the factories of Culver City. It came to this: what he couldn't do, he couldn't do, no matter how much money was offered him, no matter how much he might want this money.

Inwardly, doubtless, he was strong enough. His will and his reason were not at fault, but these did not appear to co-ordinate successfully with his outward expressions. In the circumstances, taking into account his inherent inability to say no in the face of persuasion or argument, the only possible solution of the problem seemed to lie in flight. They might, he reflected with horror, attempt to keep him a prisoner at the bungalow—his only excuse for returning there was to pack his bags—but, even so, a clandestine escape might be managed.

If I ever get out of this, he swore to himself, I'll never be persuaded even to visit California again.

As his taxi headed into the long private drive leading to Imperia's residence, he became conscious that his habitual timidity was conquering him. His doubts and fears revived to an alarming extent. It was all very well to outline a course of conduct, but difficult