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 manding a view of the rear terrace and the distant populated valley. At least he was alone, although devastated by worry and excitement. His situation seemed, somehow, to verge on an ultimate, inevitable horror. Could he have foreseen this future, assuredly he would have willingly remained in New York to face regiments of Harvard graduates with their esoteric questions.

He tried to form some clear notion of what had happened to him and how it had happened. He had made an effort—at least a mild effort—to avoid committing himself, but nature had not fitted him for argument with beautiful moving picture stars or their aggressive directors. After he had been dismissed from the presence—this phrase seemed accurately to describe the conclusion of his first interview with her—of the provocative Imperia Starling, he had been almost too fatigued in mind to analyze his sensations or to devise a solution for the predicament in which he had found himself. In the past he had not been called upon to struggle with situations which demanded argument. His life, for the most part, had been lived simply, among simple people who had not exacted obedience from him or attempted to invade the more hallowed precincts of his personality. Indeed, speaking generally, he had