She took his hand in hers. I felt—I felt living in a masked world. “Why not? It might amuse me. ‘You are really not helping matters, my friend. I suppose you have come to see your granddaughter. The Widgett mental furniture was perhaps worn and shabby, but there it was before you, undisguised, fading visibly in an almost pitiless sunlight. "I'm tired of the life I'm leading. "Ah!" cried Wild, laying down his pen and looking up with a smile of satisfaction. He took his social pleasures once a year in Hong-Kong, after Easter. Then she sang.
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