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 sure.” Wearily he passed his hand across his eyes. “Even when we gaze into the infinite we are blinded by its immensity. Beyond our farthest star they say there is another star; so beyond our infinite thought stretches a vaster infinity. But if this be so, can there be no end to things—not even to life? Have you ever thought of death, Irene?” She shuddered, but made no reply. His eyes shone into hers with singular insistence. “Many strange thoughts come to a lonely man. You have no idea how lonely a man may feel at times, especially when he is in a big city. I was never lonely when I was in Syria, or in the Arabian deserts, but in London I positively pine for companionship.”

She listened to him like one spellbound in a horrible dream. Yet through it all she knew that she welcomed his inconsequent ravings.

“Surely Perseus is coming now,’ she thought; “there can be nothing more to de- tain him. He has not sent a message because he does not wish to put me to the inconven- ience and the risk of going out. His intention is to surprise me. But he must have started

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