“He has said something of the sort. The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice. And in that respect they stir up one another. Probably the latter, for the thronging ballroom was insufferably hot. Cursing himself for his inertness, Jack soon shook off this drowsiness, and set to work in earnest. Thames sat with Winifred's hand clasped in his own, and commenced a recital of his adventures, which may be briefly told. He's passed through some rough mental torture. Just go about with him. I know well that you are making a game with me.
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